Oft 

Pines 


OF  CALI?.  LIBHAHY,  IflS  AKGELB8 


BY   THE    SAME    AUTHOR 

The  Love  Watch 

The  Song  of  Our 
Syrian  Guest 

THE    PILGRIM    PRESS 


"JEST  wait  till  Dick  Endicott  '*  a  Cnp'n!  " 

[Page  35] 


SAINT    ABIGAIL 

OF 

THE   PINES 

BY 

WILLIAM   ALLEN   KNIGHT 

FRONTISPIECE    BY 

GEORGE  A.   WILLIAMS 


BOSTON 
THE    PILGRIM    PRESS 

NEW    YORK      •     CHICAGO 

1905 


Copyright,  1905 
BY    WILLIAM    ALLEN    KNIGHT 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 
All  rights  reserved 

Published  October  14, 1905 


THE   UNIVERSITY   PRESS,    CAMBRIDGE,    U.S. A. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

SYLVIA 

/  recall  that  June-time  Sabbath, 
Hoiv  the  sky  was  wondrous  blue 

When,  the  village  service  over, 

I  rode  home  from  church  with  you  ; 

Yon  street  was  cloudless  in  the  sun  — 
And  I  was  near  ing  twenty-one. 

Xoiv  again  a  sunlit  Sabbath 

Glows  on  church  and  man's  abode  ; 

You  are  sleeping  in  the  churchyard  — 
Yonder  winds  the  homeivard  road  ; 

And  still  tlie  sky  is  wondrous  blue  — 
Twice  twenty-one  is  forty-two  ! 

What  blessing  came  I  little  knew 

When  I  rode  home,  dear  heart,  with  you. 


2130709 


CONTENTS 


I 

Introducing  My  Friend,  Captain  Cotter         1 

II 
Where  the  Story  was  Told  .....       15 

III 

"A  Boy's  Will  Is  The  Wind^s  Witt"     .       29 

IV 

A  Sea-Song  Heard  in  the  Dark    ...       39 

V 
The  Tide  Coming  In      ......       49 

VI 
Full  Tide     ..........      65 

VII 
Ebb  Tide     ..........      73 

VIII 
Borne  out  with  the  Tide  ......       83 

IX 
The  Battle  with  Whales  ......       93 

[vii] 


CONTENTS 


X  TAG. 

Another  Battle  and  a  Victory    .     .     .     .     117 

XI 

The  Way  of  the  Transgressor  is  Hard  .     135 

XII 
The  Highland  Light  .......     145 

XIII 
"  Even  the  Wind  and  the  Sea".     .     .     .     153 

XIV 
A  Vision  Beautiful     .......     163 

XV 

Airs  Well   .  173 


I 

Introducing'  My  Friend, 
Captain  Cotter 


I 

Introducing  My  Friend, 
Captain  Cotter 


ALONG  curve  of  warm  shore  sand 
dozing  in  the  sun  till  the  tide 
should  come  back  ;  flocks  of 
white  sea-fowl  lighting  and  flying  up 
here  and  there  along  the  beach  ;  out 
in  the  shimmer  of  the  sea  the  stakes 
of  the  fish-weirs  dotting  the  water  ; 
and  a  fleckless  sky  over  all.  Down 
the  shore,  like  a  speck  on  the  white 
border  of  the  ocean's  blue  mantle,  you 
might  have  seen  a  man  lying  in  the 
sand. 

I  had  let  the  boats  leave  me  behind 
that  afternoon  when  they  put  off  for  the 
lobster-pots  and  the  nets  ;  for  the  day 
1  [1] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


was  so  fine  that  the  old  men  from  the 
sparse  cottages  of  Seaconnet  were  sure 
to  stroll  down  to  the  beach.  Who  that 
has  listened  to  the  talk  of  sea  veterans 
needs  to  be  told  why  I  was  wishing  to 
stay  ashore  when  they  were  likely  to 
gather  ? 

No  sounds  were  in  the  wide  sum- 
merliness  of  the  air  but  the  voice  of 
the  sea  and  the  far  call  of  the  white 
birds.  These  even  more  than  silence 
lend  themselves  to  dozing  and  dreams, 
as  you  may  find  any  summer  day  on 
the  shore  of  Seaconnet.  So  it  was 
that  at  length  a  voice  singing  softly 
as  out  of  a  dream  found  my  ear. 

"  In  the  —  beauty  —  o'  —  the  lilies  —  " 

Very  low  was  the  monotone  as  it 
blended  with  the  murmur  of  the  water 
and  made  me  mindful  again  of  the 
shore.  There  was  a  pause.  Then  the 
voice  haltingly  rose  to  the  ascent  set 
by  the  tune  : 

[2] 


OF  THE  PINES 


"  Christ  —  was  —  born  —  across  the  —  sea." 

The  singer  ceased.  Peering  from 
the  shelter  of  my  cap  I  saw  an  old 
man  standing  shoe-deep  in  the  sand. 
He  was  not  aware  that  any  one  was 
near  ;  for  as  he  lingered  with  bent 
form,  gazing  seaward,  his  quavering 
voice  sounded  on  the  beach  as  with 
the  swell  of  feeling  : 

"  With  a  —  glo-ry  —  in  his  —  bosom  —  that  — 
transfigers  —  you  —  an'  me." 

Once  more  he  was  silent  with  his 
eyes  far  out  to  sea.  Then  he  turned 
and  began  to  trudge  on  in  the  sand. 
Soon  he  stopped  with  a  surprised  face 
and  stood  staring  down  on  me. 

"  Ship  ahoy  !"  was  his  first  word  ; 
and  his  tone  was  cheery  enough  to 
make  the  scene  of  his  singing  on  the 
beach  seem  only  a  dream.  He  lifted 
the  cap  from  my  face  with  playful  care 
and  said  : 

"  Be'n  on  the  lookout  for'ard  fur  ye 
[3] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


this  hour  an'  more."  Then  the  pleasant 
shore  of  Seaconnet  was  like  a  para- 
dise to  me;  for  Captain  Cotter  had 
come. 

If  you  had  known  the  captain  you 
would  not  need  to  be  told  why  his 
coming  was  enough  to  add  charm  even 
to  the  spell  of  sea  and  sky  ;  and  you 
would  understand  why  no  sign  was 
given  by  word  or  look  that  I  had 
heard  him  singing  alone  on  the  beach. 
But  from  that  day  onward  I  did  not 
cease  to  wonder. 

There  were  three  old  men  in  sight 
now  moving  toward  us  on  the  beach. 

Very  droll  was  their  way  of  greet- 
ing as  one  drew  near  another  tread- 
ing heavily  through  the  sand  ;  only  a 
word  or  two  spoken  with  eyes  looking 
seaward  or  skyward,  a  mere  word  or 
two  about  some  weather-sign  or  the 
boats  working  among  the  weirs,  and 
then  silence.  They  were  as  unhasting 
in  coming  to  speech  as  Arabs  meeting 
[4] 


OF  THE  PINES 


in  the  desert  and  slowly  dismounting 
from  tall  camels.  This  way  of  theirs 
set  me  thinking  how  they  too  had 
learned  it  from  days  and  nights  far 
out  in  desert  solitude. 

But  in  time  they  would  find  their 
way  to  words,  these  old  men  of  the 
ocean  waste  ;  then  it  would  be  like 
taking  the  wings  of  the  morning,  so 
swiftly  did  their  memories  flit  across 
trackless  waters. 

In  lighter  vein  they  talked  at  first. 

"  So  your  Joe's  last  boy  's  got 
spliced,"  Uncle  Zeb  began. 

"  Married  a  good  lass,  too,  ef  I  'm  a 
jedge  on  't,"  answered  Captain  Job 
Coan  with  shrill  voice. 

"  D'  y'  ever  hear  'bout  how  they  do 
it  out  in  Japan  ?  "  returned  Uncle 
Zeb  ;  for  Captain  Zebulun  Hopkins 
had  rounded  Cape  Horn  in  his  day. 
"The  lad  gits  a  green  branch  an' 
makes  it  fast  to  his  sweetheart's  house. 
Ef  her  folks  take  it  in,  he  's  tuk, 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


Ef  it  hangs  there  till  it  withers, 
he  knows  an'  ev'rybudy  knows  he  ain't 
tuk." 

Captain  Coan  chuckled.  "  My 
Moses  !  "  he  said,  shaking  his  head. 
"  Puts  me  in  mind  o'  what  —  a  feller 
tol*  me  —  who  shipped  in  the  Storm 
Queen  onc't  —  when  I  was  third  mate 
aboard  o'  her.  Come  from  Car'liny, 
an'  said  they  do  it  this  way,  back  — 
in  the  —  mount'ins." 

As  the  old  man  finished  the  story 
he  broke  out  in  thin  tones  of  mirth  and 
brought  down  his  hand  on  the  top  of  his 
cane  thrice,  nodding  with  each  stroke. 
Then  the  graybeards  laughed  together. 

Many  a  quaint  tale  was  told  after 
that;  and  it  was  like  peeping  into 
queer  nooks  of  the  world  for  me. 

Nothing  was  more  to  my  liking  in 
those  summer  days  than  to  set  these 
spent  seafarers  telling  of  their  life 
afloat  when  storms  had  given  them 
battle.  Of  this  they  were  slow  to 
[6] 


OF  THE  PINES 


speak  by  their  own  choice.  But  how 
their  talk  flowed  on,  if  I  had  luck  in 
setting  them  off!  In  such  a  case  they 
were  sure  to  forget  me  ere  long.  Then 
I  liked  it  best  of  all  while  they  dis- 
cussed among  themselves  the  haps  and 
mishaps  of  long  ago. 

"Dan'l,"  the  grave  colloquy  ran, 
*'d'  ye  s'pose  she  might  hev  righted 
herself,  after  all,  ef  Dave  hed  cut 
away  that  anchor  rope  ?  I  Ve  oft- 
times  won'ered  why  he  didn't." 

While  Daniel  pondered  his  answer, 
the  old  man's  questioning  face  was 
eager  as  a  child's,  though  he  had  clung 
to  the  bottom  of  that  capsized  craft 
more  than  fifty  years  before  and  had 
seen  poor  Dave  washed  away  forever 
from  the  anchor  rope  which  for  some 
reason  he  did  not  cut. 

So  we  sat  in  the  sun,  waiting  to 
hear  about  the  run  of  fish  when  the 
boats  came  in.  There  was  silence  for 
a  time,  and  we  looked  off  to  the  weirs 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


where  we  could  see  the  men  still  at 
work  in  the  glistening  field  which 
the  sun  was  slowly  shifting  over  the 
waters. 

It  was  Daniel  who  called  us  back. 
"  But  did  n't  Dave's  widow  take  the 
tiller's  well's  any  woman  ye  ever 
see?  The'  ain't  be'n  no  purtier  piece 
o'  pluck  in  all  Seaconnet  than  the  way 
she  brung  up  her  chil'ern  an'  beat 
her  way  into  harbor,  's  Parson  Aveiy 
called  it  in  her  fun'ral  sermon." 

Captain  Cotter,  who  had  been  a 
listener  till  now,  seemed  to  be  moved 
to  speech  by  these  words.  "  Yes,"  he 
began,  "  I  Ve  ofttimes  won'ered  'bout 
what  the  parson  said.  *  'T  is  easy 
'nough,'  said  he,  *  fur  us  to  be  cheer- 
ful an'  hearty  in  the  way  we  do 
things,  ef  the  wind  's  right  an'  the 
tide  's  runnin'  our  way  —  easy  'nough, 
then,'  said  he,  *  but  't  is  when  the  gale's 
stiff  ag'in'  ye,  an'  ye  're  left  to  beat  your 
course  in  alone,  an'  port  's  a  long  way  off, 
[8] 


OF  THE  PINES 


an'  maybe,  like  her,  your  mainm'st  's 
overboard  —  then  's  when  ye  show  what 
your  heart  's  good  fur,'  said  he." 

There  was  a  tone  in  Captain  Cotter's 
voice  which  set  me  querying.  Why 
did  such  a  saying  mean  so  much  to 
him  ?  As  I  lay  in  the  warm  sand 
listening  to  the  voices,  that  question 
moved  me  to  peer  at  his  face  from  the 
shade  of  my  cap.  His  eyes  met  mine  ; 
and  their  look  was  wistful  beyond  the 
wont  of  men. 

Of  all  the  men  along  that  coast  old 
whalemen  came  to  be  my  choice  for  a 
tale.  It  may  be  that  this  was  so  in 
part  because  Captain  Cotter  had  been 
a  harpooner.  Yet,  take  it  all  in  all, 
there  is  no  life  afloat  so  story-laden 
as  the  whaler's. 

Such  men's  eyes  are  as  sea-glasses  if 
you  know  how  to  use  them.  While 
they  talk  you  can  look  from  the  decks 
of  whale-ships  in  the  uttermost  parts 
of  the  sea  until,  if  you  listen  well,  you 

m 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


make  out  the  ship's  little  boats  off  in 
the  ocean's  sheen  through  the  haze  of 
sixty  years,  and  see  the  spray  fly  as 
they  rush  in  on  the  shining  black 
masses  of  floating  flesh  and  hurl  their 
harpoons.  Give  me  old  whalemen  for 
a  tale  ! 

But  the  best  they  ever  told  me  is 
one  from  the  lips  of  my  friend,  Captain 
Jason  Cotter  of  Seaconnet.  He  is 
gone  now.  You  no  longer  see  his 
bent  form  along  that  glowing  shore. 
It  may  be  there  is  no  reason  now  for 
keeping  his  story  untold.  But  for 
long  that  has  not  been  clear.  Did  he 
not  tell  this  tale  to  me  only,  so  far  as  I 
ever  heard  ?  And  did  he  not  let  our 
friendship  ripen  and  mellow  all  sum- 
mer long  before  he  spoke  of  what  lay 
back  of  that  song  on  the  beach  and  the 
wistful  look  he  gave  me  afterward  ? 
Moreover,  his  story  uncovered  a  secret 
love  that  was  wonderful,  passing  the 
love  of  women  1 

[10] 


OF  THE  PINES 


Yet,  as  often  as  I  go  to  Seaconnet 
the  tale  he  told  is  heard  in  the  voice  of 
the  sea  hard  by  and  in  the  singing,  the 
strangely  merry  singing,  of  the  breeze. 
"  Tell  it,"  they  seem  to  be  saying,  "  it 
must  not  die  with  him  ;  tell  it  —  tell 
it." 

And  the  calling  sea  and  the  singing 
breeze  of  Seaconnet  shall  have  their 
way. 


[11] 


II 

Where  the  Story  was  Told 


II 

Where  the  Story  was  Told 


WOULD  you  find  Seaconnet 
and  see  the  spot  to  which 
Captain  Cotter  led  on  the  day 
when  he  told  me  his  story  ?  Go  east- 
ward from  the  Providence  Plantations, 
where  black  "mammies"  singing  at 
the  kitchen  doors  watch  the  turkeys 
spreading  their  feathers  to  the  breeze 
fresh  from  the  bay  ;  still  eastward  over 
the  island  ridge  where  Dutch  wind- 
mills wave  their  long  arms  as  with 
open  palms,  sending  friendly  messages 
all  day  long  to  white  lighthouses  bask- 
ing in  the  sunshine  down  the  shore. 
There,  where  the  land  lies  dreaming, 
lulled  to  sleep  in  the  blue-  veined  arms 
of  the  sea,  you  will  find  Seaconnet. 

Though  its  sandy  roads  and  sunny 
shorelands  lie  in  my  memory  only  with 
summer  days  holding  a  canopy  of  blue 
[15] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


sky  over  it  and  clasping  it  about  with 
the  deeper  blue  of  shining  sea-waters, 
I  do  not  doubt  that  Seaconnet  is  lone 
and  drear  in  winter.  For  Captain 
Cotter  said  one  summer's  day  as  we 
trudged  on  over  the  hazy  sand-hills, 
"  The  spell  o'  the  sky  is  on  it,  sir,  now  ; 
't  is  a  drear  neck  o'  land  in  winter." 
And  if  you  could  have  known  Captain 
Cotter  as  I  did,  you  would  understand 
why  his  word  was  enough  for  me. 

Indeed,  the  way  has  not  seemed 
quite  clear  to  say  that  the  earth  is 
round,  since  a  day  when  we  two  stood 
near  the  surf  and  he  set  his  eye  with  a 
far-away  look  on  the  ocean  and  pointed 
with  his  blunt  forefinger  to  show  that 
such  a  notion  could  be  harbored  only 
in  the  mind  of  a  landsman. 

So  I  do  not  scruple  to  say  that  when 
winter  has  broken  the  spell  of  the  sum- 
mer's wooing  and  blasts  are  abroad  and 
the  sea  round  about  is  black  and  moan- 
ing against  a  tormenting  sky,  the  thin 
[16] 


OF  THE  PINES 


pasture  slopes  and  winding  roads  of 
Seaconnet  are  bleak  and  dismal  indeed. 
Yet  nothing  tests  my  faith  in  things 
unseen  more  keenly.  For  Seaconnet 
is  the  fairest  summer  land  I  know. 

"What  do  you  do,  captain,  when 
the  spell  of  the  sky  is  gone  and  it  is 
winter  in  Seaconnet  ?  "  I  asked,  as  we 
tramped  on  toward  a  spot  he  was  wish- 
ing to  show  me. 

A  smile  started  under  his  shaggy 
eyebrows  and  broke  somewhere  in  his 
grizzled  beard. 

"  I  go  moonshinin'  somew'at  oft," 
he  answered.  "  Sometimes  when  I  've 
turned  in  o'  nights,  I  hear  the  sea  call- 
in',  callin'  through  the  dark,  an'  after 
twelve  o'clock  'r  thereabouts  I  git  out 
an'  cruise  along  the  beach,  never  know- 
in'  what  treasure  I  may  pick  up  next. 
I  hev  a  kind  o'  manie  fur  it.  I  s'pose 
ef  I  hed  a  million  I  'd  still  go  moon- 
shinin'." 

Slowly  he  went  on  telling  of  what 
2  [17] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


he  had  found  in  this  lonely  roaming 
on  the  beach,  when,  before  morning 
brought  to  the  eye  of  some  passer-by 
the  fresh  forage  of  the  waves,  he  was 
there  to  receive  the  booty  they  tossed 
up  on  the  sand,  like  jolly  robbers  reck- 
less of  the  fate  of  vanquished  ships 
sunken  or  adrift. 

But  the  lone  old  man  on  the  beach 
did  not  share  their  sounding  mirth. 
He  was  always  very  grave  in  these 
midnight  roamings,  though  I  have 
seen  him  lightsome  and  playful  in  a 
quiet  way  when  the  sun  was  shining. 

More  than  once  he  had  said  to  me, 
"  I  Ve  al'ays  be'n  fearsome  lest  I  might 
come  on  a  budy,  but  I  Ve  had  luck  so 
fur." 

A  queer  light  was  in  his  eyes  as  he 
made  such  remarks.  I  noticed  this 
long  before  its  meaning  was  understood. 
I  used  to  think  it  was  a  token  of 
childlikeness  back  of  his  manhood's 
weathered  bravery.  Others  had  told 
[18] 


OF  THE  PINES 


me  he  was  an  old  harpooner,  but  no 
one  knew  what  lay  in  his  past.  He 
never  talked  of  himself.  But  that 
strange  light  in  his  eyes  kept  me 
wondering. 

In  the  heart  of  this  charmed  nook 
of  land  is  a  small  burying-ground, 
slumberous  and  old.  We  saw  its  low 
stones  over  the  clumps  of  bayberry, 
and  Captain  Cotter's  step  as  we  neared 
the  enclosure  was  changed  as  if  he 
would  go  softly. 

There,  under  a  lone  elm  that  seemed 
to  bend  in  sheltering  sympathy  over 
the  spot,  were  three  gravestones. 
The  old  man  stopped  before  them, 
removed  his  cap,  and  gave  me  a 
wordless  look  as  if  to  say  that 
he  had  fulfilled  his  promise.  Little 
did  I  know  of  the  secret  locked  in 
his  breast  as  I  fell  to  pondering  those 
stones. 

They  stood,  and  indeed  still  stand, 
close  together.  So  intimately  nestled 
[19] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


are  they  that  the  same  tall  tuft  of 
grass  casts  its  shadow  on  each  of  them 
as  the  sun  of  a  summer's  day  glides 
through  the  sky  of  Seaconnet. 

A  feeling  of  awe  gave  me  pause 
while  cutting  away  the  lichen  that 
the  lettering  might  be  read  more 
surely.  Once  when  the  mysterious 
words,  soon  to  be  transcribed,  became 
quite  clear,  I  withdrew  my  hand  and 
stood  upright.  Was  I  not  uncover- 
ing the  secrets  of  hearts  that  were 
stiU? 

But  Captain  Cotter's  shriveled  face 
was  gazing  at  me  with  pleading  eyes. 
For  some  reason  he  greatly  wished  me 
to  note  all  that  was  on  those  stones. 
How  could  I  spurn  the  mute  prayer  of 
my  friend's  eyes  1 

Yielding  to  the  old  man's  wish,  I 
stooped  again  and  read  the  inscription 
with  unflinching  care. 

On  the  middle  stone  were  these 
words  : 

[20] 


OF  THE  PINES 


Here  lies  the  body  of 

CAPTN  RICHARD  ENDICOTT 

who  perished  at  sea 

In  October  1840 

AET.  42  yrs. 

The  stone  to  the  right  read  : 

Here  lies  the  body 

of 

RUTH  SAVORY  ENDICOTT 

wife  to  Capt"  Richard  Endicott 

who  died  Nov.  20,  I860 

AET.  59  yrs.  5  mos. 

These  two  were  the  more  weather- 
worn. The  stone  to  the  left  bore 
these  words  : 

Here  lies  the  body  of 

ABIGAIL  ROCKWELL 
who  should  have  been  the  wife 

of 

CAPT*  RICHARD  ENDICOTT 

who  died  Oct.  30,  1880 

Aged  80  yrs.  10  mos. 

There  was  a  bit  of  Scripture  cut  at 
the  base  of  this  stone.     But  this  was 
[21] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


read  hurriedly,  though  it  was  unusual 
enough  to  make  a  man  eager  ;  for  the 
words  in  the  middle  of  the  inscription 
set  me  querying  whether  I  had  read 
them  aright.  So  the  wonderment 
deepened  as  I  read  once  more  these 
strange  words  : 

"  Who  should  have  been  the  wife." 

To  this  day  a  question  still  haunts 
my  memory  of  that  moment.  What 
sign  let  the  old  man  know  that  those 
particulars  words  had  drawn  me  by 
their  magic?  Perhaps  I  startled  un- 
awares ;  or  it  may  be  I  bent  and 
peered  at  them.  But  something  led 
him  to  step  forward  softly  and  look  up 
into  my  face  with  the  eyes  of  a  man 
whose  secret  is  laid  open. 

"  Have  you  read  the  words  ?  "  he 
asked. 

That  same  queer  light  flickered  in 
his  eyes.  A  keen  desire  began  to 
flame  within  me  to  know  about  this 


OF  THE  PINES 


grizzled  seaman's  part  in  such  a  matter. 
Had  there  been  a  tragedy  in  these 
lives  ?  And  what  should  give  him 
this  eye-gleam  as  he  stood  by  those 
stones  ?  So  it  was  that  I  did  not 
speak. 

"  What  do  you  make  out,  sir  ?  "  he 
went  on  after  silence. 

I  heard  a  turtle-dove,  perhaps  in  the 
elm  tree  over  our  heads,  plaintively 
cooing  to  its  mate.  In  the  still  sun- 
shine my  voice  sounded  like  a  jarring 
intrusion  as  I  said,  "  Captain,  let  us 
move  away  from  these  graves  to  talk." 

The  old  man's  tethered  step  led  the 
way  a  few  paces  ;  then  he  turned  as  if 
expecting  my  answer. 

"  I  think  I  knew  her,  captain." 

There  seemed  to  be  no  need  for  him 
to  ask  which  woman  of  the  two. 
Without  a  word  he  led  me  on. 

"  In  my  youth  I  knew  a  lady  whom 
her  friends  called  Miss  Abigail.  She 
was  of  a  great  age  and  loved  by  many. 
[23] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


She  lived  not  far  from  here  —  north- 
ward from  New  Bedford  a  few  miles. 
I  shall  never  forget  calling  on  her 
once." 

"  I  Ve  ofttimes  won'ered  ef  you  'd 
rec'lect  that  day,"  the  captain  broke  in. 
"  That  was  the  fust  sight  I  ever  had 
o'  ye." 

The  first  sight  he  ever  had  of  me  ! 
What  could  he  have  had  to  do  with 
that  visit  ? 

Going  on  as  quietly  as  a  man  may 
in  such  a  case,  I  said  :  "  Gray  bearded 
men  told  me  how  in  her  youth  she 
was  a  famous  beauty.  They  said 
something,  too,  of  a  certain  mystery 
hanging  about  her  unwedded  life. 
But  none  knew  anything  of  that  save 
that  there  was  a  mystery.  So  I  know 
nothing,  captain,  of  what  those  words 
back  there  on  that  stone  mean." 

The  captain's  upturned  face  and 
restless  movements  showed  that  enough 
had  been  said. 

[24] 


OF  THE  PINES 


"  I  want  to  tell  ye,"  he  began,  with 
a  downward  sweep  of  his  open  hand. 
As  if  bracing  himself  for  an  unhasting 
fulfilment  of  a  purpose  long  pent  up, 
he  swung  his  arms  behind  him,  grasped 
one  tattooed  wrist  with  the  other  hand, 
and  fell  to  talking. 

At  first  the  scant  stream  of  his 
words  lost  its  way  at  many  an  unfa- 
miliar turn,  and  the  fore  part  of  the 
story  must  needs  be  told  with  fuller 
flow,  drawing  from  many  sources.  But 
at  length  his  speech  gathered  volume 
until  like  a  river  it  bore  all  things  with 
it  ;  he  shall  speak  for  himself,  then,  till 
the  river  is  lost  in  the  salt  sea  tide. 

We  strolled,  and  stood  in  our  tracks, 
and  strolled  on,  over  and  over  as  he 
talked.  And  the  pasture  slopes  of 
Seaconnet  were  sweet  with  the  sea's 
breath  and  the  warm  sunshine  and  the 
scent  of  bayberry. 


[25] 


III 

A  Boys  Will  Is  The  Wind's 
Will" 


Ill 

Will  Is  The  Win$s  WllV 


WHEN  in  1818  the  greatest  of 
New  Bedford's  old  whaling 
days  opened,  Jason  Cotter 
was  a  little  "cut-tail."  So  he  was 
called  by  the  skipper  and  crew  of  the 
mackerel  schooner,  Rachel,  or  later 
aboard  the  White  Wing  sailing  to  the 
Banks  for  cod.  This  is  the  same  as 
saying  that  he  was  one  of  the  many 
lads  of  those  parts  who,  at  about  ten 
years  of  age,  were  sent  to  the  hard 
school  of  the  sea.  These  little,  tender 
toilers  did  not  share  the  "  lays  "  of  fish 
by  which  their  elders  were  paid.  Their 
only  reward  besides  learning  the  ways 
of  men  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in 
ships  and  the  quick  sharpening  of  their 
wits,  was  the  pay  for  the  fish  they 
themselves  caught.  Each  fish  the 
boy  drew  in  was  marked  by  snipping 
[29] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


the  tail  before  it  was  thrown  into  the 
general  store.  So  Jason  Cutter  was 
a  little  "cut-tail"  when  the  greatest 
period  of  the  old  whaling  days  began. 

As  the  wane  of  that  time  set  in,  he 
was  a  man  who  had  seen  fifty  years 
on  salt  water,  and  he  was  waning,  too. 
But  his  weathered  eyes  had  beheld 
such  sights  in  the  harbor  of  New  Bed- 
ford as  no  other  port  of  the  world 
could  boast,  when  as  many  as  four 
hundred  whaling  craft  were  going  and 
coming  there.  And  he  had  seen  the 
wonders  of  the  deep  off  many  a  coast. 

When  he  had  sailed  some  seven  or 
eight  seasons,  and  the  flowing  sea  had 
set  in  motion  the  surge  of  manhood 
within  him  as  he  neared  his  eighteenth 
year,  he  burned  with  desire  to  ship  on 
board  a  whaler.  For  the  soldier's  boy 
will  play  with  a  sword  to  the  sound  of 
a  beaten  drum,  and  the  sailor  lad  is 
always  longing  for  the  ventures  of 
outermost  seas. 

[30] 


OF  THE  PINES 


"  But,  captain,"  I  asked,  "  did  n't  a 
boy  have  to  face  cruelty  in  plenty 
aboard  the  old  whalers  ?  " 

I  saw  his  wizen  face  wince  at  mem- 
ories throbbing  still  after  more  than 
sixty  years  ;  and  so  low  did  he  answer 
"  Yes,"  that  the  word  almost  faded 
away  before  it  reached  my  ear. 

"But  't  was  takin'  pot  luck  on  sea  'r 
shore  fur  a  sailor  in  them  days,"  he 
added.  "  Most  folks  thought  o'  him  as 
a  sort  o'  water-beast  —  needed  in  their 
bus'ness,  but  scurse  a  man  at  best." 

Many  a  seafaring  man  hated  ship- 
owners and  their  kind  in  bitter  re- 
turn. Sailor  lodging-houses  were  often 
wretched  enough  to  make  a  man  glad 
to  go  back  to  the  toil  of  the  deck  and 
the  hard  lot  of  the  forecastle. 

"  When  I  was  in  port  'fore  my  folks 
moved  down  to  New  Bedford,"  said 
the  old  man,  "  I  'd  cruise  round  the 
streets  with  nothin'  to  do  an'  nowheres 
to  go." 

[31] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


One  day  the  lad  stood  looking  into 
a  shop  window.  Three  gentlemen  of 
the  ship-owning  class  were  talking  on 
the  steps  of  the  old  Bedford  Bank. 
There  were  many  Quakers  among  the 
town's  chief  people  in  those  days,  and 
two  of  these  men  wore  drab  clothes 
with  silver  buckles  at  the  knee  and  on 
their  shoes.  Broad-brimmed  beavers 
made  their  "thee"  and  "thy"  and 
"  Friend  "  seem  fitting  in  their  speech. 

The  third  man,  who  was  one  of  the 
"  world's  people,"  not  being  a  Friend, 
spoke  the  words  which  caught  the  ear 
of  the  young  seaman. 

"No,  neighbors,"  said  he,  "it  will 
never  do.  Our  townsfolk  have  looked 
on  seamen  as  a  despised  class  long 
enough.  They  are  men  ;  we  must  so 
deal  with  them  on  sea  and  ashore.  " 

"  But  they  be  men  beyond  hope, 

thee    knows    that,"    was    the    reply  ; 

"their    ungodly   ways    ashore   wreck 

them    as  wind   and  waves  do  at  sea. 

[32] 


OF  THE  PINES 


They  be  fellows  of  the  baser  sort  — 
thee  knows  not  that  they  have  aught 
of  that  inner  light  which  lighteth  every 
man." 

"Yea,  Friend  Cartright,"  answered 
the  other  man  in  Quaker  garb,  "  thee 
knows  they  hate  us  to  thy  sorry  ;  but 
we  must  return  good  for  evil,  and  if 
we  can,  we  must  find  a  way  to  speak 
to  their  conditions.  My  mind  is  with 
thine,  neighbor  Addison  ;  they  be 
men,  and  Friends  will  join  their  neigh- 
bors of  the  steeple-houses  in  trying  to 
speak  to  the  needs  of  these  evil-doers." 

Then  they  passed  into  the  Bank  ; 
and  Jason  swallowed  hard  to  keep 
from  yelling  at  them  in  his  rage. 

The  next  time  he  was  in  port  he 
strayed  into  a  gathering  in  a  small 
room  near  the  harbor.  There,  among 
others,  were  the  two  Friends  and  the 
man  they  called  "Neighbor  Addison." 

"  An'  they  was  talkin'  kindlike  with 
us  sailor  lads,"  said  Captain  Cotter, 
3  [33] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


"  an'  givin'  us  little  bags  with  things  a 
fellow  needs  at  sea  in  'em,  an'  tracts 
an'  little  Bibles." 

"Neighbor  Addison"  noticed  the  boy 
Jason  Cotter.  There  were  business 
men  in  Boston  who  knew  the  worth 
of  Addison  Rockwell's  friendship.  In 
his  quiet  way  he  handed  Jason  a 
comfort-bag  filled  with  daintily  pre- 
pared articles  and  having  "  Matthew 
11  :  28  "  worked  upon  it  in  red  silk. 
"My  daughter  made  it,  my  lad,"  said 
he,  "and  we  hope  you  will  think  of 
us  as  your  friends." 

Captain  Cotter's  eyes  glistened  as 
he  told  of  this  and  added,  "  Long 
afterwards  them  words  flamed  up  in 
my  mem'ry,  an'  oh,  sir,  they  burned 
like  coals  o'  fire  on  my  head  !  " 

Then  he  fell  to  telling,  halting  and 
hurrying  his  words  by  turns,  how  some 
found  ways  of  getting  places  in  the 
shelter  of  a  friend's  favor.  "  Ship's 
cousin  "  was  the  bitter  name  by  which 
[34] 


OF  THE  PINES 


a  suffering  crew  dubbed  a  man  so 
spared  by  captain  or  mate. 

Now  there  was  a  whaleman,  Richard 
Endicott  by  name,  who  was  known  in 
all  the  fleet  of  that  port.  When  Jason 
was  a  small  boy  he  heard  of  him  when- 
ever the  White  Wing  brought  the  lad 
home  from  the  Banks.  Later,  this 
man's  exploits  with  sperm-whales  in 
the  middle  and  southern  Atlantic  were 
the  talk  of  the  harbor.  For  young  Endi- 
cott had  made  his  mark  as  a  harpooner 
of  iron  nerve  and  skill  without  limit  ; 
and  now  as  mate  he  was  famed  for  run- 
ning his  boat  alongside  the  whale  with 
a  rush  and  driving  his  lance  home  with 
a  quick,  terrible  calmness,  which  seemed 
to  those  near  him  in  such  ventures 
nothing  short  of  magic.  This  man  was 
now  coming  to  his  own,  having  the 
seasoned  strength  and  the  set  purpose 
belonging  to  his  twenty-eighth  year. 

"Jest  wait  till  Dick  Endicott  's  a 
cap'n  1  "  were  the  words  Jason  heard 
[35] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


one  day  as  he  passed  a  bunch  of  sea- 
dogs  on  the  pier. 

It  so  happened  that  Jason  Cotter 
had  a  kinswoman,  Ruth  Savory  ;  of 
sea-faring  stock,  comely  and  whole- 
some with  the  ripe  womanliness  of  five 
and  twenty.  More  than  once  the  lad 
had  seen  Richard  at  the  Savory  cot- 
tage when  his  ship  was  in  port  ;  he 
had  noticed,  too,  that  the  man  so 
fiercely  brave  beside  a  whale  in  the 
roar  of  the  smitten  sea,  was  very  gen- 
tle with  Ruth  and  lingered  timidly  at 
her  father's  gate  in  the  quiet  night. 

Small  wonder,  then,  that  the  boy, 
with  the  sharpened  wits  of  a  sailor 
taught  to  cling  to  a  spar  or  quick  to 
seize  a  rope's  end,  said  within  himself, 
"  When  Mr.  Endicott  's  a  cap'n  't  is 
likely  there  'd  be  fair  wind  for  his  own 
wife's  cousin." 

So  the  lad  was  very  kind  to  his 
cousin  Ruth.  And  the  whale-ships 
went  and  came. 

[36] 


IV 

Sea-Song  Heard  in  the 
Dark 


IV 

Sea-Song  Heard  in  the  Dark 


NORTHWARD  a  few  miles 
along  a  pleasant  highway  lead- 
ing out  of  the  rich  old  whaling 
town,  on  a  road  running  off  to  the 
Acushnet  shore,  was  a  quiet  home- 
stead. Tall  pines  stood  guard  before 
it.  A  massive  door-stone,  hewn  broad 
and  true  years  before,  lay  ready  for 
the  guest  at  the  ample  threshold.  On 
either  side  small-paned  windows  gave 
subtle  distinction  to  the  dwelling's 
square  expanse.  The  deep  casements, 
open  to  the  sun,  were  set  with  flowers, 
witness-bearers  to  the  womanly  touch 
on  the  life  within. 

A  traveler  through  that  leafy  road, 
though  he  were  a  stranger,  would 
know  at  a  glance  that  the  head  of  that 
household  was  not  of  the  men  who 
manned  the  ships  in  the  harbor.  His 
[39] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


was  the  better  lot  of  those  who  dwell 
at  home  amid  their  own  cherished 
acres. 

If  the  traveler  chanced  to  be  ac- 
quainted with  that  region  he  would 
not  fail  as  he  passed  along  to  glance  a 
second  time  through  those  pine  trees 
and  even  to  let  his  eyes  linger.  For 
Abigail  Rockwell  was  famed  for  her 
beauty  and  the  charm  of  her  speech 
even  then,  though  she  was  still  in  her 
early  twenties  ;  and  this  was  Abigail 
Rockwell's  home. 

It  was  not  hard  to  trace  in  the  old 
man's  face  and  voice  what  fluttering  of 
heart  there  was  when  the  lad  Jason 
first  found  that  Richard  Endicott  was 
a  welcome  guest  in  that  home,  though 
as  yet  he  knew  not  who  dwelt  there. 

"  When  Mr.  Endicott's  ship  was  in 
port,"  he  ran  on  gravely,  "an'  I  had 
the  luck  to  be  home  from  the  Banks, 
I  'd  go  somew'at  oft  evenin's  roundb  y 
Ruth  Savory's.  Fur  I  liked  the  sight 
[40] 


OF  THE  PINES 


o'  the  hollyhawks  an'  marigolds  inside 
their  white  picket  fence,  an'  the  scent 
o'  her  roses,  or  the  shinin'  o'  the  lamp 
she  kep'  in  the  little  parlor  window, 
spesh'ly  when  the  fog  blowed  in  an'  the 
yard  was  wet  and  the  moon  missin'. 

"  But  I  liked  things  best  when  I 
found  that  lamp  hid  by  the  white 
muslin  curt  'in.  Fur  more  'n  once  I 
hed  heerd  Richard's  voice  quiet-like 
now  an'  then  inside  when  that  curt'in 
was  so." 

Then  there  came  a  shift  in  his  man- 
ner of  speech,  like  a  quick  flaw  of  wind 
on  a  still  sea  swelling  the  sails  and 
spreading  a  flurry  on  the  water. 

"But  'fore  long  I  noted  how  that 
curt'in  wa'n't  drawed  to  so  oft,  an' 
Ruth's  lamp  stood  burnin'  at  the  win- 
dow in  plain  sight  all  evenin'.  '  'T  is  a 
mite  thick  to  wind'ard,'  says  I.  So  I 
goes  on  the  lookout  for'ard  I  " 

The  old  man's  eyes  were  drawn 
half  shut  now,  and  set  as  if  peering 
[41] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


over  white  caps  and  facing  a  wind  fog- 
laden.  Soon  it  was  clear  that  he  saw 
breakers  —  breakers  far  back  in  his 
boyhood. 

"  By  'n'  by  one  evenin',  jest  'fore 
dark,  I  made  out  Richard  Endicott 
movin'  under  light  canvas  long  the 
north  road  an'  out'ard  bound.  A  gib- 
bous moon  was  comin'  out  o'  the  sea 
lookin'  's  ef  it  meant  to  shine  its  best 
that  night.  '  'Pears  like  't  is  much  the 
same  with  Mr.  Endicott  an'  the  moon 
on  them  two  points  to-night,'  says  I  to 
myself.  So  I  puts  off  in  his  wake.  It 
was  a  long  tack  an'  it  fetched  up  sharp 
on  the  rocks.  Fur  by  'n'  by  I  saw 
Richard  turn  in  at  a  big  fine  house  on 
the  road  to  the  shore. 

"An'  then  —  yell  not  furgit,  sir, 
that  I  was  but  a  lad  then,  will  ye  ?  " 

My  assurance  was  given  in  silence. 

"  I  watched  him,  sir,  through  a  open 
winder  —  watched  him  take  a  seat 
—  saw  a  fine  lady  come  in  —  wondrous 
[42] 


OF  THE  PINES 


light  o'  foot,  sir,  with  a  glad  step  like 
her  voice  ;  an'  I  heerd  her  call  him 
Richard!  " 

"  I  swore  like  a  sailorman  out  there 
under  a  tree.  When  the  squall  hed 
'bout  blowed  over,  I  heerd  Richard 
sayin'  :  '  Abigail,  would  you  sing  that 
song  again  for  me?'  She  seemed  to 
know  the  song  he  meant  without  ask- 
in'.  I  watched  her  go  to  the  piano,  - 
I  can  see  her  now  and  how  beautiful 
she  was  ;  but  God  knows  how  I  hated 
her  —  an'  I  listened  to  her  sing. 

"  I  remember  that  her  voice  was  soft- 
like,  but  it  sounded  clear  as  a  bell  out 
under  the  trees.  I  remember,  too, 
how  these  was  the  fust  words  : 

1  The  years  creep  slowly  by,  Lorena.' 

"  Then  fur  a  spell  I  was  all  shook 
up  an'  I  could  n't  hear  nothin'  but  the 
tune.  By  'n'  by  I  got  quiet-like  inside 
an'  heerd  what  she  was  singin'.  It 
was  somethin'  'bout,  '  It  matters  little 
[43] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


now,  Lorena,'  and  '  Life's  tide  is  ebbin' 
out  so  fast.'  That  last  caught  my  ear. 
An'  somehow  her  voice  seemed  won- 
drous kind,  an'  I  listened  so  close  that 
I  never  furgot  what  she  was  singin'  at 
the  last.  It  run  like  this  : 

'  There  is  a  Future  !     O  thank  God, 

Of  life  this  is  so  small  a  part  ! 
'T  is  dust  to  dust  beneath  the  sod  ; 

But  there,  up  there,  't  is  heart  to  heart.  ' 

"  No,  1  \e  never  furgot  that,  sir, 
I've  never  furgot.  An'  when  she 
stopped  singin',  I  didn't  hate  her  any 
more  ;  an'  I  did  n't  feel  like  lis'nin'  to 
her  and  Richard  any  longer.  So  I 
stole  off  in  the  dark.  Out  in  the  road 
I  turned  an'  looked  back  an'  saw  the 
light  shinin'  out  o'  the  open  winder. 
An'  as  I  started  on  down  the  road,  all 
I  said  was,  *  Poor  Ruth  !  '  " 


[44] 


OF  THE  PINES 


It      mat  -  ters    lit  -  tie  now    Lo  -    re  -  na,         The 


past          is          in       th'  e  -  ter    -    nal     past,  Our 


heads     will    soon      lie     low,        Lo  -    re    -    na,      Life's 


tide  is       ebb  -  ing      out       so      fast.  There 

t    t        [i       r.       n       Is       F  |    |         ,     |t 

is  a        fu  -  ture  1      O     thank    God,  of 


life       this      is        so        small    a      part!        'Tis 


dust        to    dust       be  -  neat  h      the       -sod ;  .    .   .       But 


there,     up     there,  't  is    heart       to     heart.  'T  is 


*J 


dust       to      dust      be  -  neath    the     sod ; .  . .          But 

t_        |s      p      h     ~^gi—      .    i 

W    4.      *- 

there,     up    there,    't  is         heart  to     heart. 

[45] 


V 

Coming  In 


V 

The  Tide  Coming  In 


MANY  a  year  had  come  and  gone 
like  the   flowing  and    ebbing 
tides   before  Jason   heard  the 
words  of  that  song  again.     But  a  day 
came  at  last,  nay,  a  night,  when  he 
heard  them  ;  and  before  that  night  was 
gone  the   boom  of  the   sea  and  the 
groans  of  the  writhing  ship  seemed  fit- 
ting sounds  to  blend  with  the  throb- 
bings  of  his  heart. 

Richard  Endicott  was  not  bred  to 
the  sea.  For  two  generations  his  fam- 
ily had  dwelt  in  their  square-chimneyed 
farmhouse  in  Wilbraham.  The  men 
and  women  of  that  ample  dwelling 
knew  their  Bibles  and  cherished  the 
things  which  eye  hath  not  seen  nor  ear 
heard  ;  but  they  also  rejoiced  betimes 
in  the  sight  of  their  eyes  and  the  hear- 
ing of  their  ears.  Thrift  was  a  part  of 
*  [49] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


their  health,  beauty  a  portion  of  their 
wealth.  Theirs  was  the  mode  of  living 
where  righteousness  and  peace  kiss 
each  other. 

Out  of  such  a  home,  much  against 
his  parents'  wishes,  it  must  be  said,  and 
led  on  by  a  lad's  thirst  for  adventure, 
Richard  had  come  in  his  eighteenth 
year  to  the  old  whaling  town,  where 
for  so  many  years  the  air  of  the  world 
and  of  the  high  seas  between  ports  left 
its  salt  on  a  man's  lips. 

Through  the  years  since  then  he  had 
thrown  himself,  both  on  land  and  sea, 
into  the  life  of  the  sea-going  men 
whose  ventures  he  had  dared  to  share. 
Their  people  had  been  his  people,  and 
more  than  once  he  had  come  near  dy- 
ing where  they  died.  Yet  through  all, 
such  is  the  spell  of  birth  and  child- 
life,  the  kind  of  manhood  bred  in  that 
inland  home  had  shown  fast  color. 
Impure  womanhood  had  never  lured 
him  ;  for  there  was  a  manly  pity  in  his 
[50] 


OF  THE  PINES 


heart.  Yet  he  was  no  anchorite. 
Many  a  merry  hour  in  port  had  he 
among  the  fisherfolk,  and  many  a  sea- 
man's comely  daughter  had  gladdened 
his  heart  and  quickened  its  beating 
after  the  way  of  maidens  since  Rebekah 
went  down  to  the  fountain  with  her 
pitcher  and  Rachel  to  the  well  with 
her  sheep.  But  at  last  Ruth  Savory 
came  to  be  in  his  dreams. 

Still,  through  all  the  pulsing  pleas- 
antness of  the  time  following,  there 
was  a  dim  desire  within  him  unreached 
as  yet.  Clearly  aware  of  it  he  was 
not  ;  but  it  was  there.  Like  the 
shadowy  tints  deep  within  a  rough  sea- 
shell,  faint  but  of  unfading  hues,  his 
mother  had  imaged  in  his  breast  a 
womanly  presence  touched  by  the 
charm  of  finer  instincts.  That  impress 
waited  still,  unmatched,  unsatisfied  by 
the  wholesome  daughters  of  the  fisher 
cottages.  For  there  is  no  test  of  a 
man's  inmost  quality  more  penetrating 
[51] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


than  this,  the  kind  of  womanhood  that 
puts  his  heart  at  rest. 

But  that  mother's  dower  of  blessing 
on  her  son  had  not  yet  yielded  its  full 
entail.  A  day  came  when  a  gentle- 
man from  Wilbraham  met  Abigail 
Rockwell's  father  in  Boston,  and,  when 
business  was  done,  he  spoke  of  the  loss 
his  town  had  lately  suffered  in  the  death 
of  an  exceptional  woman. 

"  A  lady  of  rare  grace  of  person  and 
of  character,"  said  he.  "  She  herself 
was  an  Adams,  and  by  marriage  an 
Endicott  The  only  son,  Richard, 
took  to  the  sea  when  very  young.  For- 
tunately he  was  in  port  and  was  able 
to  be  with  his  mother  at  the  last.  I 
saw  him  at  the  funeral,  a  stalwart 
fellow  with  a  finely  molded,  manly 
face.  By  the  way,  Mr.  Rockwell,  I 
understand  he  sails  out  of  your  own 
city." 

So  it  was  that  the  mate  of  the  Sea 
Gull  began  to  be  a  guest  now  and  then 
[52] 


OF  THE  PINES 


in  the  Rockwell  home  ;  for  Addison 
Rockwell,  besides  having  compassion 
for  the  poor,  had  the  ways  of  a  quiet 
gentleman  of  the  old  school  and  found 
pleasure  in  showing  hospitality  to  a  man 
of  parts. 

From  the  first  there  was  something 
about  Abigail  which  played  upon  the 
young  seaman's  mind  each  time  he  saw 
her  in  that  retired  home,  with  the 
charm  of  memories  awakened  after 
years  of  forgetting.  So  passed  the 
months.  And  Richard's  breast  had 
become  as  a  place  where  two  seas 
meet. 

In  the  weeks  following  his  last  trip 
in,  he  had  grown  fond  of  visiting  the 
home  of  Abigail's  father.  Her  pres- 
ence, her  sunny  speech,  perhaps  above 
all  her  songs,  had  held  a  pleasant  spell 
over  him  through  all  the  rough  ways 
in  the  fourteen  months  of  his  last  cruise. 
When  at  last  they  were  homeward 
bound,  he  found  his  thoughts  hurrying 
[53] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


on  before  the  lumbering  ship,  on  past 
the  harbor  and  the  office  of  the  owners, 
on  out  the  north  road  to  her  home. 
Now  for  three  months  of  mellow  sum- 
mer he  had  been  in  port,  the  vessel 
needing  renewal.  What  more  is  to 
be  told  ?  In  any  case,  Jason  heard 
Abigail  call  the  mate  "  Richard,"  and 
she  knew  the  song  he  wanted  to  hear  ; 
and  that  song  was  "  Lorena."  We  of 
this  later  time  have  forgotten  the  trem- 
ulous charm  of  that  lover's  plaint,  but 
many  a  heart  beat  to  its  rhythm  in  the 
old  days. 

When  the  song  ended  and  Jason 
was  going  off  in  the  dark,  Abigail  sat 
running  her  fingers  fondly  over  the 
keys.  At  last  Richard  said,  "  How 
strange  it  is  that  I  should  like  that  line 
so  well  !" 

The  piano  sounded  on  a  few  more 
chords  ;  then,  without  stopping  the 
harmonies,  Abigail  answered,  "  What 
line,  Richard  ?  " 

[54] 


OF  THE  PINES 


"  The  one  about  '  Life's  tide  ebbing 
out  so  fast,'"  said  he. 

She  finished  the  deepening  chord 
and  held  its  vibrant  tones  as  she  said, 
"  That  is  because  you  have  listened  to 
the  music  of  the  sea  so  long,  is  it  not, 
Richard?" 

Then  she  fell  into  that  quiet  win- 
someness  of  face  and  voice  which  was 
a  way  with  her,  and  told  how  she  had 
watched  the  tide  come  in  that  morning, 
how  it  moved  up  the  harbor  and  rippled 
along  the  Acushnet  shore  and  slowly 
covered  all  the  bare  sand  with  fresh 
waves  until  it  washed  against  the 
meadow-grass.  "  And  it  comes  in  so 
twice  each  day  that  goes  by,"  she  said 
with  a  kindling  smile. 

Richard  was  stirred  with  desire  to 
say  that  he  could  see  life  as  her  parable 
had  shown  it  if  she  were  on  the  shore 
of  the  seas  he  sailed. 

While  this  thought  burned  in  his 
heart,  her  fingers  touched  the  keys 
[55] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


again  and  the  strain  from  "  Lorena  " 
which  lingers  in  the  ear  sounded  like 
a  refrain.  It  was  as  if  she  had  spoken 
the  words,  — 

"  Life's  tide  is  ebbing  out  so  fast." 

Richard's  look  made  her  mindful  of 
what  she  had  done  unawares. 

"  I  was  not  thinking,  Richard,"  she 
said  with  quick  sympathy  in  her  eyes. 

"  But  I  was  thinking,"  he  answered. 
"  I  have  now  won  a  place  among  sea- 
faring men,  and  no  doubt  I  can  better 
it  in  due  time.  But  with  no  life  besides 
that  at  sea  —  I,  a  man  of  thirty  —  after 
all  —  well,  no  wonder  that  line  holds 
like  an  anchor  to  windward." 

"  A  seaman  to  the  very  heart  !  "  she 
said  with  gentle  playfulness.  And  that 
was  all. 

After  a  moment  Richard  braved  the 
silence.  "  You  must  know  something 
of  what  you  have  come  to  be  to  me  ; 
and,  Abigail,  I  know  that  if  ever  the 
tide  comes  in  and  life  is  at  the  flood 
[56] 


OF  THE  PINES 


for  me,  you  will  be  standing  on  the 
shore." 

The  mate  of  the  Sea  Gull  knew,  or 
thought  he  knew,  what  an  off-shore 
wind  he  was  heading  against  ;  for  fam- 
ilies like  Abigail's  were  quite  apart 
from  the  fisherfolk.  Small  wonder, 
then,  that  he  now  shifted  helm,  with 
prudent  hope  of  making  the  harbor  at 
last.  If  he  had  only  held  his  course, 
and  —  but  who  can  tell  what  might 
have  been  if  any  of  us  had  only  known 
the  heart  of  some  one  back  in  the 
vanished  years  ! 

Now  it  had  come  to  pass  that  little 
ways  of  companionship  had  opened  be- 
tween them  ;  among  these  was  one  in 
which  Richard  found  singular  charm. 
Abigail's  love  for  all  things  beautiful 
as  well  as  her  piety  made  her  delight 
in  marking  choice  words  in  her  Bible, 
and  she  was  fond  of  mentioning  to  her 
friends  some  treasured  find. 

From  a  child  Richard  also  had 
[57] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


known  the  Scriptures,  though  such 
matters  had  dropped  out  of  his  thought 
since  he  went  to  sea.  So  it  was  that 
Abigail's  way  had  kindled  Richard's 
memories  of  the  days  with  his  mother. 
And  there  is  no  charm  like  that  to  a 
man  with  a  heart  unsullied. 

So  it  was,  too,  that  they  had  fallen 
into  the  habit  of  marking  passages  to- 
gether, Richard  noting  the  marks 
shown  him  in  Abigail's  Bible  ;  and, 
hardly  knowing  how  it  began,  they 
were  reading  them  at  the  same  hour 
when  apart.  Sometimes  when  Richard 
was  about  to  say,  "  Good-night,"  or 
when  one  sent  a  message  to  the  other, 
as  they  did  now  and  then,  finding 
love's  witchery  making  occasion,  they 
did  it  by  giving  a  Bible  reference. 
For  so  a  casket  seems  befitting  because 
the  stone  is  precious. 

"  Have  you  not  some  good  bit   of 
Bible  for  me  to-night  ?  "  said  Richard 
as  he  was  about  to  take  his  leave. 
[58] 


OF  THE  PINES 


"  Oh,  there  is  one  I  have  been  enjoy- 
ing these  three  days,"  she  answered. 
"  I  must  show  it  to  you,  Richard,  be- 
fore you  can  go." 

Soon  she  was  reading  these  words  : 
"  They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in 
ships,  that  do  business  in  great  waters  ; 

"  These  see  the  works  of  the  Lord, 
and  his  wonders  in  the  deep." 

As  she  read  on  in  the  lamp's  glow, 
Richard  watched  her  face  with  its 
mingled  beauty  of  form  and  color  and 
light  from  within,  and  drank  in  the 
words,  wondering  why  she  had  been 
finding  joy  in  them  "these  three 
days." 

Her  voice  sounded  on  :  "  For  he 
commandeth,  and  raiseth  the  stormy 
wind  which  lifteth  up  the  waves  there- 
of. 

"They  mount  up  to  the  heaven, 
they  go  down  again  to  the  depths  : 
their  soul  is  melted  because  of  trouble. 

"They  reel  to  and  fro,  and  stagger 
[59] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


like  a  drunken  man,  and  are  at  their 
wit's  end. 

"Then  they  cry  unto  the  Lord  in 
their  trouble,  and  he  bringeth  them 
out  of  their  distresses. 

"  He  maketh  the  storm  a  calm,  so  that 
the  waves  thereof  are  still.  Then  are 
they  glad  because  they  be  quiet  ;  so  he 
bringeth  them  unto  their  desired  haven." 

The  woman  looked  up  with  a  hush 
in  her  eyes. 

"  Where  is  that,  Abigail  ?  " 

"  In  the  One  Hundred  and  Seventh 
Psalm." 

"  What  verses  are  those  about  '  the 
waves  being  still  '  and  '  bringing  them 
to  their  desired  haven  '  ?  " 

She  turned  the  book  with  her  finger 
on  the  words.  In  the  silence  the  man's 
eye  followed  the  slender  finger.  Then 
he  saw  those  words  of  infinite  calm  in 
the  glow  of  a  hallowing  light  ! 

So  they  took  for  their  remembrance 
that  night,  Psalm  107  :  29,  30. 
[60] 


OF  THE  PINES 


Ere  long  Richard  said  "  Good  night," 
lingering  as  he  went.  And  Abigail 
stood  in  the  door-light  as  he  passed 
under  the  pine  trees  into  the  dark. 


[61] 


VI 


VI 


MORNING  broke  on  the  tree-tops 
around    the    Rockwell    home. 
The  September  sunbeams  were 
soon  playing  about  their  old  and  stead- 
fast friend,  the  great  square  chimney, 
rising  above  the  roof,  which  was  still  in 
shadow  and  wet  with  dew.     A  cheer- 
ful  streamer    of    smoke  was  already 
going  up  into  the  autumn  air. 

And  it  was  morning  in  the  heart  of 
Abigail.  As  soon  as  she  saw  the  sun- 
light, she  found  herself  wishing  for  a 
sight  of  the  bay.  So  when  morning 
duties  were  done,  for  the  peace  of  her 
home  was  not  that  of  idleness,  she 
strolled  along  the  leaf-filled  road  to 
the  shore.  Lingering  nasturtiums  and 
geraniums,  with  salvia  and  marigolds 
rejoicing  in  their  time,  lifted  their 
warm  colors  beside  the  walk  to  the 
6  [65] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


gate,  —  the  walk  along  which  Richard 
had  passed  the  evening  before  ;  the 
modest  little  pimpernel,  bright  with 
orange  glow,  peeped  out  of  the  sand 
along  the  roadway  ;  goldenrod  showed 
its  plumes  in  the  corners  of  the  rail 
fences  ;  the  trees  were  aflame  with  late 
September's  joy  ;  and  the  bay  —  oh, 
its  clear,  blue  waters  were  all  agleam  ! 

"  Thou  makest  the  outgoings  of  the 
morning  and  evening  to  rejoice,"  she 
repeated  in  a  voice  that  sounded  softly 
over  the  wash  of  the  little  waves.  For 
the  glow  of  ripened  love  was  in  her 
heart,  with  the  freshness  of  morning 
upon  it.  And  when  Richard  came 
again,  yes,  she  would  let  him  know 
that  he  need  not  hold  back  from  speak- 
ing any  longer. 

So  the  girl  was  glad  with  the  old, 
old  joy  of  womanhood,  as  she  stood 
with  the  morning  sun  glinting  on  the 
waters  and  lighting  up  the  mellow 
grandeur  of  the  trees  behind  her. 
[66] 


OF  THE  PINES 


Not  far  down  the  shore  it  was  a 
busy  day  in  the  harbor  of  New  Bed- 
ford for  the  mate  of  the  Sea  Gull.  All 
day  long  and  far  into  the  night  he  was 
on  duty  aboard  the  whaler,  lacking 
nothing  of  the  ship's  officer  —  a  man 
of  iron  will,  with  a  voice  to  be  heard 
the  first  time. 

Boats  were  plying  between  the  piers 
and  the  Sea  Gull  swinging  at  her 
anchor.  Carpenters,  shipwrights,  calk- 
ers  were  clearing  her  decks  of  their 
tools,  climbing  over  her  sides  to  the 
unsteady  boats.  Rough  men,  some 
chattering  in  strange  tongues,  were 
clambering  aboard.  Boxes,  barrels, 
bales,  and  other  stores  were  going  into 
her  hold  at  a  merry  rate.  Answering 
voices  sounded  along  the  deck  and 
from  men  aloft  as  they  set  up  her  rig- 
ging. The  mate  kept  his  eye  on  all  till 
the  lanterns  had  been  burning  far  past 
midnight.  For  the  owners,  impatient 
at  long  delay,  had  learned  that  the  craft 
[67] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


was  about  ready  for  the  sea,  and  had 
ordered  that  she  weigh  anchor  the  first 
day  possible.  The  captain  had  sworn  he 
would  be  off  by  night  of  the  next  day. 
There  was  hot  blood  in  men's  veins. 

When  Richard  turned  in  at  last, 
tired  though  he  was,  he  fell  to  thinking 
of  Abigail.  He  longed  to  send  her  a 
message.  Before  he  slept  he  found 
the  little  Bible  now  brought  to  his 
ship's  quarters  for  the  first  time.  He 
read  the  passage  which  she  had  made  so 
dear  the  night  before.  Then  he  turned 
here  and  there  to  others  which  she  had 
chosen  for  their  reading  during  the 
months  just  past.  His  eye  followed 
the  story  of  how  Rebecca  was  found 
for  Isaac.  He  lingered  on  the  words  : 

"  And  they  said,  We  will  call  the 
damsel,  and  enquire  at  her  mouth. 

"  And  they  called  Rebecca,  and  said 
unto  her,  Wilt  thou  go  with  this 
man  ?  And  she  said,  I  will  go." 

The  effect  was  as  if  a  voice  out  of 
[68] 


OF  THE  PINES 


the  night  sky  had  spoken  to  him. 
He  '  sat  pondering  the  message  ;  for 
it  opened  to  him  the  way  in  which 
he  fain  would  go. 

Then  by  the  light  of  his  lantern  he 
wrote  a  letter,  hoping  that  a  way  would 
be  found  to  send  it  to  Abigail  in  the 
morning.  This  was  what  he  wrote  : 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  My  ship  is  ordered 
to  sea  at  once.  We  shall  make  sail  before 
another  night,  if  it  is  in  the  power  of  men  to 
get  ready  for  it.  How  little  I  thought  that 
I  should  not  see  you  again  for  many  months  ! 
But  I  carry  with  me  the  blessing  of  knowing 
you  —  surely  you  will  not  be  surprised  if  I 
add,  the  blessing  of  loving  you.  I  may  never 
see  you  again,  Abigail.  Great  waves  will 
roll  between  us.  You  will  understand,  and 
at  least  will  not  think  unkindly  of  me  if  in 
writing  hurriedly  I  say  only  that  I  have  been 
reading  once  more  the  story  about  finding  a 
wife  for  Isaac  and  can  no  longer  keep  from 
telling  you  that  all  is  summed  up  for  me 
in  the  words  of  Genesis  24  :  57,  58. 
Yours  with  gratitude, 

RICHARD  ENDICOTT. 
[69] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


Having  so  written,  he  folded  the 
letter  and  laid  it  in  his  Bible,  feeling 
that  somehow  the  two  belonged  to- 
gether; then  for  the  first  time  in 
many  a  year  he  felt  drawn  to  place 
the  little  book  under  his  pillow.  And 
so  the  weary  man  was  soon  asleep. 
But  not  even  in  his  fairest  dream  did 
he  fancy  that  another  reference  to  the 
sacred  page  had  been  written  that  day 
by  a  happy  woman  who  had  stood  in 
the  sunlight  of  the  morning  up  the 
shore. 


[70] 


VII 

Ebb  Tide 


VII 


IN  the  early  morning  the  mate  was 
on  deck  again,  and  the  rush  of  hur- 
ried men  was  all  about  him.     For 
it  was  to  be  the  Sea  Gull's  last  day  in 
the  home  port  for  nobody  knew  how 
long. 

Richard's    letter    to     Abigail    was 
tucked  inside  his  blouse. 

Toward  eleven  o'clock  he  spied  the 
lad  Jason  in  one  of  the  boats  laden 
with  stores  and  coming  alongside.  He 
had  come  to  know  the  boy  at  sight, 
having  seen  him  here  and  there  about 
whale-ships.  He  had  seemed  a  likely 
boy.  Richard  had  noticed  his  pleasant 
way  of  touching  his  cap  to  the  mate  of 
the  Sea  Chill.  He  knew  little  more  of 
him,  least  of  all  did  he  have  any  knowl- 
edge as  to  who  were  his  kinsfolk. 
[73] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


Jason's  heart  leaped  to  his  mouth 
when  he  heard  the  mate  call  him  aft. 
Could  it  be  that  his  time  to  ship  in  a 
whaler  had  come,  and  with  Mr.  Endi- 
cott?  Ruth  must  have  said  a  good 
word  for  him  after  all,  and  sooner  than 
he  hoped.  "  1  11  say  Yes,  an'  go  sign 
fur  the  Sea  Gull,  an'  'tis  done,"  the 
boy  was  saying  to  himself  as  he  went 
along  the  deck  to  the  spot  where  the 
mate  was  standing. 

"  There  's  an  errand  I  want  done," 
the  mate  began.  "  I  can't  leave  the 
ship  now,  maybe  can't  go  ashore  be- 
fore we  sail,  and  I  want  word  back. 
Here  's  a  dollar  if  you  '11  do  it  for  me 
and  be  spry.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

Jason  caught  his  breath.  His  dis- 
appointment half  choked  him. 

"  I  guess  I  can  do  it,  sir,"  he  stam- 
mered. 

"  Well,  then,  I  want  you  to  take 
this  letter  ashore  and  go  at  once  out 
the  north  road  about  two  miles,  then 
[74] 


OF  THE  PINES 


turn  into  the  road  leading  toward  the 
river.  Not  far  down  that  road,  on  the 
north  side  of  it,  is  a  big  square  house 
with  pine  trees  in  front.  That  's  Addi- 
son  Rockwell's  house,  where  I  want 
you  to  take  this  letter.  Do  you  know 
the  Rockwell  place  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Jason  answered  ;  then 
quickly  he  became  confused  and  added, 
"  Leastwise,  I  mean,  sir,  I  Ve  been 
through  there  onc't,  —  an'  I  can  find 
it." 

The  mate  saw  no  meaning  in  the 
lad's  confusion. 

The  youth's  disappointment  was  fast 
turning  to  bitter  thoughts. 

Envelopes  had  not  come  into  gen- 
eral use  in  those  days,  and  of  wafers  or 
sealing  wax  then  used  to  fasten  the 
folded  sheet  there  was  none  aboard  the 
Sea  Gull.  So  the  letter  was  wrapped 
about  with  several  strands  of  thread 
tied  in  a  hard  knot,  when  Richard 
handed  it  to  Jason. 
[75] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


The  lad's  wrath  had  begun  to  sputter 
in  noiseless  oaths  after  the  manner  of 
sailors,  as  he  climbed  down  the  ship's 
side.  While  he  pulled  for  shore  he 
was  thinking  of  the  night  when  he 
followed  Richard  and  wondering  if 
Rockwell  was  not  Abigail's  last  name. 
When  he  had  passed  behind  the  pier 
out  of  view  from  the  Sea  Gull  he  took 
the  letter  from  his  pocket.  The  oars 
swung  to  the  boat's  side  and  trailed  in 
the  water  as  he  read  the  address.  Yes, 
there  it  was,  all  written  out,  just  as 
he  had  guessed.  "  Miss  —  Abigail  — 
Rockwell,"  so  he  read  it  off  with  drawl- 
ing heartlessness.  For  his  memory  of 
what  he  had  seen  through  the  window 
that  night  was  keen  as  an  east  wind, 
but  the  spell  of  the  song  was  gone. 

"  I  might  as  well  know  what  cargo 
I'm  carryin',"  he  said  as  he  left  the 
streets  about  the  pier  behind,  "an'  I 
kin  tie  a  knot  that  '11  hold  as  well  as 
his'n." 

[76] 


OF  THE  PINES 


Lifting  the  thread  close  to  the  knot, 
he  cut  it,  cut  away  the  knotted  end, 
and  opened  the  sheet. 

When  he  had  finished  reading  the 
letter  he  said,  "  An'  I  might  as  well 
know  what  them  Bible  verses  tell 
about." 

He  was  not  long  in  getting  to  his 
mother's  cottage,  finding  her  worn  lit- 
tle Bible,  and  shutting  himself  in  his 
bedroom  close  against  the  slant  of  the 
roof. 

Soon  he  had  found  the  place  cited  in 
the  letter,  and  was  reading  the  words 
chosen  by  the  hurried  seaman  to  voice 
the  thoughts  of  his  heart. 

"  Wants  her  to  marry  him,  eh  !  "  he 
muttered.  "  Well,  't  is  a  purty  mess  ; 
a  purty  mess,  I  call  it  !  And  Ruth 
awond'rin'  all  the  time  what's  hap- 
pened. And  besides,  how  'm  I  to  ever 
ship  with  him  ef  this  thing  goes  on  ?  " 

It  was  not  long  until  he  began  to 
say,  "  Before  night  he  '11  be  where  no- 
[  77] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


budy  can  find  him  fur  goodness  knows 
how  long.  'Pears  like  there  'd  ort  to 
be  some  way  o'  cuttin'  the  rope  an' 
lettin'  'em  go  adrift.  That  's  w'at  any 
sailor  'd  do  at  sea  when  't  is  the  only 
way  o'  savin'  his  ship." 

The  young  man  sat  moodily  with 
the  letter  and  the  little  Bible  in  his 
hands,  while  his  embittered  spirit  led 
him  into  a  wilderness  of  devices 
wherein  he  was  tempted  of  the  devil. 

At  length  this  thought  took  shape 
in  his  mind.  "  Wonder  how  it  might 
tangle  things  to  change  them  Bible 
numbers  a  mite  !  "  With  a  chuckle 
he  fell  to  running  his  finger  up  and 
down  the  chapter  referred  to  in  Rich- 
ard's letter.  At  last  he  stopped  it  on 
a  verse  which  made  him  hold  his 
breath. 

From    childhood    the     youth    had 

known  and  shared  the  strife  rankling 

in  the  minds  of  many  who  sailed  the 

fishing  craft,  against  the  families  who 

[78] 


OF  THE  PINES 


dwelt  in  seeming  ease.  It  was  as  nat- 
ural for  him  to  think  of  that  now  as  to 
breathe  the  salt  air.  The  verses  he 
had  hit  upon  seemed  to  match  that 
feeling. 

"  I  '11  jest  change  that  5  to  3,"  he 
said,  "  an'  let  it  stand  37,  38  instid  of 
57,  58."  The  form  of  the  figures  lent 
aid  to  the  change,  and  it  was  soon 
made. 

"  There,  now,  his  letter  will  end  this 
way."  Slowly  he  traced  the  lines  as 
he  read.  "  I  may  never  see  you  again, 
Abigail.  Great  waves  will  roll  be- 
tween us.  You  will  understand  and 
at  least  will  not  think  unkindly  of  me 
if  in  writing  hurriedly  I  say  only  that  I 
have  been  reading  once  more  the  story 
about  finding  a  wife  for  Isaac  and  can 
no  longer  keep  from  telling  you  that  all 
is  summed  up  for  me  in  the  words  of 
Genesis  24  :  37,  38." 

Having  made  his  way  through  these 
words,  his  lips  were  still  save  for  a 
[79] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


weak  smile,  as  his  eye  read  the  passage 
fixed  by  his  finger  : 

"  My  master  made  me  swear,  saying, 
Thou  shalt  not  take  a  wife  to  my  son  of 
the  daughters  of  the  Canaanites,  in 
whose  land  I  dwell  :  but  thou  shalt  go 
unto  my  father's  house,  and  to  my  kin- 
dred, and  take  a  wife  unto  my  son." 

"There,"  he  muttered,  "she  won't 
know  w'at  that  means,  maybe,  but 
she  '11  know  there  's  somethin'  up.  I 
guess  that'll  make  some  big  waves  roll 
between  'em  sure  'nough." 

Then  he  folded  the  letter,  wrapped 
and  tied  the  thread,  and  at  once  started 
out  the  north  road. 


[80] 


VIII 

Some  out  with  the  Tide 


VIII 

Borne  out  with  the  Tide 

JMMMMMMMMMMMMMMNMMMMMMk 

WHEN  Captain  Cotter  reached 
this  point  in  the  story  the 
old  man  had  been  toiling  in 
his  speech,  like  a  vessel  beating  her 
way  against  a  hard  blow  with  a  long 
sweep.  Once  he  had  turned  aside  and 
stood  looking  down,  there  being  noth- 
ing at  the  spot  to  gaze  at  that  I  could 
see  but  a  stubble  of  bayberry,  which 
was  common  enough  in  Seaconnet. 
As  I  watched  him  he  lifted  his  eyes  as 
if  unmindful  of  me  and  took  a  far  look 
seaward.  A  single  vessel  outward 
bound  and  well  to  sea  was  holding  a 
long  tack  in  the  offing. 

Soon  he  turned  and  fell  to  talking 
again  as  we  strolled  on.  But  he  seemed 
to  hurry  now  as  if  eager  to  get  to  some- 
thing he  was  wishing  to  tell.  From 
his  jumbled  words  and  still  more  fitful 
[83] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


glances  and  twitchings  of  face  I  made 
out  what  took  place  in  the  course 
of  his  journey  out  the  north  road. 

When  Abigail  had  taken  Richard's 
letter  and  had  read  it  with  quick  eyes, 
she  at  once  took  a  card  from  the  folds 
of  her  dress  —  a  card  already  written 
upon  —  and  bade  him  carry  it  to  Mr. 
Endicott  as  soon  as  he  could.  "  Do 
you  think  you  can  reach  the  ship  before 
she  sails  ?  "  were  the  last  words  Jason 
heard  as  he  started  off  running.  For 
he  was  restless  with  desire  to  get 
away. 

Toward  four  o'clock  the  mate  of  the 
Sea  Gull  said  to  the  captain  :  "  Perhaps 
I'd  better  be  going  ashore,  sir,  as  I 
have  a  thing  or  two  to  close  up  before 
we  sail." 

He  had  kept  a  sharp  lookout  for 
Jason  for  two  or  three  hours  past. 

"  As  soon  as  you  like,  Mr.  Endicott," 
was  the  answer  of  the  Sea  Gull's  cap- 
tain, "  fur  I  'm  set  on  seein'  that  anchor 
[84] 


OF  THE  PINES 


come  aweigh  soon  after  five  o'clock, 
sure." 

Richard  called  at  the  office  of  the 
owners,  made  a  few  simple  purchases 
in  the  shops  near  the  piers,  exchanged 
farewell  greetings  with  many  who 
wished  him  luck,  all  the  while  watch- 
ing for  a  sight  of  Jason.  At  last  he 
felt  bound  to  put  off  for  his  ship,  won- 
dering why  the  lad  was  not  back  in 
time  to  see  the  whaler  leave,  whether  he 
had  an  answer  for  him  or  not.  As  he 
came  alongside  there  were  many  boats 
with  oar  or  sail  in  the  water  around  the 
Sea  Gull,  some  on  business  but  more  to 
see  the  whaler  off.  For  she  was  a  craft 
of  note,  a  veteran  with  a  record  ;  and 
above  all  "  Dick  "  Endicott  was  aboard 
of  her  again.  "  That  's  him,"  said  one 
lad  after  another,  watching  the  stalwart 
mate  climbing  the  vessel's  side. 

But  among  all  the  faces  looking  up 
from  the  boats  bobbing  about,  Richard 
saw  nothing  of  Jason. 
[85] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


Meanwhile  Jason  Cotter  was  bend- 
ing over  his  mother's  Bible  once  more 
in  his  low-roofed  room. 

When  he  had  gone  down  the  road 
far  enough  to  be  out  of  sight  from  the 
Rockwell  home,  he  had  looked  at  the 
card  which  Abigail  had  bidden  him 
carry  with  haste  to  Mr.  Endicott.  He 
had  read  with  a  bitter  smile  what  was 
written  thereon  in  a  light,  flowing  hand  : 

"  Ruth  i  :  16,  17. 

A.  R." 

"  Guess  I  '11  have  to  read  the  Bible 
some  more  'fore  I  give  him  this." 
Then  he  set  off  at  a  lad's  pace,  nursing 
his  wonderment  and  plotting  mischief 
in  a  boy's  weak  way  as  he  went. 

By  three  o'clock  he  was  in  his  room 
again,  had  found  the  place,  and  was 
floundering  with  heartless  mockery 
through  the  clear  depths  of  Ruth's 
plaintive  song  of  love.  Embittered 
as  he  was,  his  young  heart  was  heedless 
[86] 


OF  THE  PINES 


of  the    charm    of  the  words    as    he 
read  : 

"  Entreat  me  not  to  leave  thee,  or 
to  return  from  following  after  thee  : 
for  whither  thou  goest,  I  will  go  ;  and 
where  thou  lodgest,  I  will  lodge  :  thy 
people  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy 
God  my  God  :  where  thou  diest,  will 
I  die,  and  there  will  I  be  buried  :  the 
Lord  do  so  to  me,  and  more  also,  if 
ought  but  death  part  thee  and  me." 

By  four  o'clock  he  had  run  his 
ringer  up  and  down  the  verses  of  the 
whole  book  of  Ruth  and  had  found 
that  there  was  no  way  of  changing 
that  card  as  he  had  the  letter.  For 
there  is  nothing  in  Ruth  but  words  of 
faithful  love.  He  sat  glowering  and 
baffled. 

At  length  his  eye  strayed  to  the 
page  next  to  the  opening  of  Ruth,  the 
close  of  the  book  of  Judges.  Soon 
his  finger  stopped  at  the  eighteenth 
verse  :  - 

[87] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


"  Howbeit  we  may  not  give  them 
wives  of  our  daughters." 

"  Ef  I  could  only  git  that  in  fur 
his  answer  !  "  he  said.  "  He  'd  think 
the  old  man  had  turned  ag'in'  him  ; 
fur  *  A.  R.'  stands  fur  Addison  Rock- 
well '  s  well  's  Abigail  Rockwell." 

But  there  was  no  way  of  changing 
"  Ruth  "  to  "  Judges." 

He  looked  once  more  at  the  number 
of  the  chapter  and  the  verse. 

"  Ef  I  could  only  git  that  in  !  "  he 
said  again.  At  last,  being  at  his  wit's 
end,  he  put  off  sullenly  for  the  pier. 
It  was  past  five  o'clock. 

When  he  came  in  sight  of  the  harbor 
he  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  Sea  Gull 
had  hove  short  her  anchor,  saw,  too, 
that  many  were  out  to  see  her  off. 
Quickly  he  got  a  boat  and  made  for 
the  ship.  They  were  loosing  her  top- 
sails as  he  went  toward  her  with  the 
speed  of  oars  ;  then  they  broke  out 
anchor  and  she  swung  about  with  her 
[88] 


OF  THE  PINES 


bows  to  the  harbor  mouth.  As  he 
came  alongside  by  a  short  course  she 
was  moving  freely  in  glad  response  to 
the  welcome  of  the  wind,  and  he  soon 
fell  astern. 

Richard  was  on  deck  standing  aft. 
Busy  as  he  was,  he  saw  the  lad,  came 
to  the  taffrail  and  called  down  to 
him  :  "  Did  you  get  there  with  the 
letter  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  Jason  replied. 

"  Any  answer  ?  " 

"  Some  words  on  a  card,  sir." 

"  Read  'em  to  me  ;  be  quick,  lad  ; 
what  are  they  ?  " 

"  '  Judges  21  :  18,  A.  R.,  '  sir,"  Jason 
called. 

The  ship  was  fast  leaving  his  boat 
rocking  in  her  wake. 

The  mate  made  a  note  ;  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand  he  called  out,  "  All  right, 
my  lad  !  "  Then  he  turned  quickly  to 
the  work  of  his  men  in  the  rigging. 

By  six  o'clock  the  sun  was  sinking 
[89] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


behind  the  spires  and  pleasant  tree- 
tops  of  old  New  Bedford.  It  hung  a 
golden  globe  in  a  bank  of  cloud  as  if 
loth  to  leave  the  scene.  It  threw  a 
ruddy  light  on  the  waters  of  the  bay 
and  the  white  wing  of  the  inbound 
pilot-boat  and  the  tall  sails  of  the  Sea 
Gull  now  outside  and  squaring  herself 
for  the  open  sea.  Then  it  sank  in  the 
cloud.  And  the  whale-ship  vanished 
into  the  night. 


[90] 


IX 

The  Battle  with  Whales 


IX 

Battle  with  Whales 


ANOTHER  September's  tender- 
ness had  filled  the  air  and  tinted 
the  fields  and  trees,  and  two 
Octobers  had  deepened  the  tone  of  the 
landscape  along  those  shores  before  the 
Sea  Gull  again  hove  in  sight  by  Cutty- 
hunk  and  at  last  dropped  anchor  in 
the  harbor  of  New  Bedford. 

Abigail  was  in  Boston,  the  guest  of 
her  father's  friends.  For  another  Sep- 
tember's memories  and  the  ruddy  glow 
of  two  Octobers  had  flamed  in  her 
breast  and  cast  their  mellowing  light 
upon  her  eyes  and  brow  ;  and  the 
father  had  sought  new  ways  of  life  for 
her. 

Ruth,  sharing  the  uneased  way  of 

the  poor,  was  in  her  cottage,  where 

the  hollyhocks  were  dead  and  the  mari- 

golds were  lifting  a  shriveled  bloom 

[93] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


here  and  there  from  the  cold,  lank 
grass  inside  the  fence. 

As  for  Richard,  he  welcomed  a  quick 
discharge  of  the  Sea  Gulfs  ample  cargo 
and  a  speedy  return  to  the  sperm-whale 
grounds. 

So  passed  the  months  into  the  years, 
like  waves  into  the  tide,  bringing  the 
solace  of  toil  and  the  healing  minis- 
tries of  time. 

The  third  summer's  life  was  now  at 
the  full  along  those  shores,  and  the 
Sea  Gull  came  home  once  more.  And 
what  of  Richard  ?  Abigail  had  come 
to  be  as  a  fair  dream,  still  in  his 
thought,  but  so  far  as  he  then  knew 
no  longer  in  his  life.  Call  it  a  tragedy 
if  you  will.  The  tragedy  of  unful- 
filled longings,  of  unrealized  dreams, 
is  in  every  life  in  one  form  or  another. 
But  of  all  tragedies  smothered  down 
in  the  breasts  of  men  and  women,  the 
deepest  is  when  we  give  up  doing  what 
is  good  because  we  cannot  do  what  we 
[94] 


OF  THE  PINES 


would.  That  tragedy  did  not  come 
in  the  heart  of  Richard.  Abigail  had 
awakened  the  finer  instincts  of  his 
nature  and  opened  his  eyes  to  the  life 
from  which  he  had  turned  as  a  youth. 
But  now  a  hand  beyond  his  control 
had  closed  that  vision  against  his  love. 
It  was  nothing  short  of  a  victory  now 
to  turn  to  the  life  of  the  fisherfolk 
which  he  had  chosen,  and,  with  unem- 
bittered  desire,  to  make  a  place  for 
himself  amid  the  comforts  of  their 
wholesome  love. 

So  before  that  third  summer  faded, 
the  winter  blight  in  Richard's  heart 
had  yielded  to  the  fresh  flood  of  life 
which  by  God's  good  grace  returns  to 
the  heart  of  a  man  betimes,  as  it  does 
to  the  fields  where  snows  have  lain. 
To  a  nature  like  his,  serenely  just  and 
strong,  there  would  be  a  sense  of  moral 
worth  in  the  thought  of  returning  to 
his  first  love,  in  mating  with  the  gentle 
daughter  of  a  fellow  seafarer. 
[95] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


So  it  was  that  the  fisherfolk  kept  a 
merry  night  under  the  harvest  moon, 
and  Richard  and  Ruth  were  wed.  And 
when  the  Sea  Gull  sailed  again,  Ruth's 
eyes  were  glad  through  her  tears  with 
love's  comeliness,  as  she  watched  the 
sails  dwindle  to  a  speck  that  vanished 
in  sea  and  sky.  For  "  Dick  "  Endicott 
was  hers,  though  unseen,  and  he  was 
now  the  Sea  Gulfs  captain. 

But  among  them  all  no  heart  beat 
faster  than  young  Jason  Cotter's.  For 
he  was  aboard  Captain  Endicott's  ship, 
bound  for  the  whaling-grounds. 

The  years  sped  by.  Twice  the  Sea 
Gulfs  cruise  was  two  years  long.  Her 
captain  pushed  on  to  outlying  seas, 
seeking  and  finding  greater  store  of 
the  precious  spermaceti. 

Southward  they  went,  and  cruised 
the  waters  about  the  Cape  Verde  Isl- 
ands. Many  black  Portuguese  came 
in  those  days  from  these  islands  to 
serve  in  New  Bedford's  whaling-ships. 
[96] 


OF  THE  PINES 


Within  sight  of  their  smoking  peak, 
nine  thousand  feet  in  height,  the 
spoutings  of  the  sperm-whale  roaming 
the  sea  in  schools  were  often  seen  like 
distant  signals  answering  back  to  the 
volcano's  beckonings  against  the  sky. 
Southward  they  pressed  on  and  on, 
until  the  Sea  Gull  crossed  "  the  line," 
St.  Paul's  Rocks  looming  in  the  dis- 
tance like  lone  sentries  on  the  equator, 
lifting  their  ragged  shoulders  twenty 
thousand  feet  above  their  base  in  the 
depths  that  roll  around  them.  Still 
southward,  sighting  to  the  east  the 
frowning  mass  of  St.  Helena,  where  a 
few  years  before  Napoleon  had  been 
caged  ;  then  southward  between  meas- 
ureless sea  and  sky,  until  from  the  star- 
board bow  they  made  out  the  head 
of  Tristan  de  Cunha  peering  above  a 
cloud  a  hundred  miles  by  water  and 
seven  thousand  feet  in  air.  Round 
about  Tristan  and  his  brooding  com- 
panion, Inaccessible  Island,  lying  apart 
7  [97] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


through  some  twenty  miles  of  deep 
water,  midway  in  the  vast  loneliness 
that  sweeps  between  Cape  Horn  and 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  were  famous 
sperm-whale  grounds.  There  the  Sea 
Gull  lingered,  gathering  into  her  hold 
the  richness  of  the  southern  seas. 

Richard  had  now  been  captain  ten 
years.  Jason,  a  bearded  man  of  thirty, 
was  the  captain's  trusty  harpooner. 
Amid  all  the  rigors  of  life  on  shipboard 
the  younger  man  had  the  confidence 
of  the  skipper,  and  in  a  way  the  two 
men  afforded  companionship  for  each 
other.  For  this  is  the  way  of  the 
wicked  in  the  world  until  the  fulness 
of  time. 

One  day  when  the  Sea  Gull  was 
laden  nearly  to  her  limit  and  all  hearts 
were  beginning  to  wratch  for  the  time 
when  the  boats  would  be  stripped  of 
their  whaling  gear  and  stowed  aft  bot- 
tom up,  and  the  decks  cleared  of  the 
"  try-  works,"  and  the  rigging  tarred 
[98] 


OF  THE  PINES 


afresh  and  the  vessel  headed  for  her 
long  cruise  homeward-bound,  the  watch 
in  the  "  crow's  nest  "  raised  the  old 
but  ever  stirring  cry,  "  Bl-o-o-ow  ! 
Bl-o-o-ow  !  " 

It  is  best  to  let  Captain  Cotter  tell 
what  happened  then  in  his  own  words  : 

"  'T  was  a  way  we  hed,  sir,  when  the 
lookout  in  the  crow's  nest  sighted 
whale.  Sometimes  he  'd  see  the  sun- 
shine glintin'  on  a  black  floatin'  mass 
miles  away,  'r  sometimes  he'd  see 
columns  o'  white  water  an'  spray  spout- 
in'  up  in  the  ocean.  Then  he  'd  give 
a  long,  low  call,  sayin'  :  '  Bl-o-o-ow, 
Bl-o-o-ow,  Bl-o-o-ow  !  '  An'  in  a  jiffy 
all  hands  'd  be  on  deck  an'  waitin'  fur 
orders  that  wa'n't  long  comin'. 

"  Well,  on  the  day  I  'm  tellin'  'bout 
now,  the  cap'n  'peared  to  mount  to 
the  main  crow's  nest  'fore  the  lookout 
stopped  callin'.  'T  was  mighty  quiet 
then  on  that  deck  while  he  stood  gazin' 
off  to  starb'rd,  an'  we  could  hear  him 
[99] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


talkin'  low  to  the  man  in  the  fore 
crow's  nest,  an'  all  eyes  was  lookin' 
up  at  the  cap'n. 

"'Fore  long,  with  his  voice  still 
quiet-like,  he  spoke  down  to  the  mate. 
'  Sperm-whale,  Mr.  Martin  ;  fair-sized 
cow,  rolling  as  though  nursing  her  calf  ; 
big  bull  moving  in  a  circle  near  by. 
I  think  1  11  go  with  you,  Mr.  Martin. 
Lower  away  boats.' 

"  The  cap'n  shot  down  to  the  deck, 
two  boats  fell  away,  crews  scramblin' 
into  'em  as  still  as  cats,  each  man  to 
his  post.  'Fore  the  boats  got  away, 
while  we  was  shippin'  masts  an'  settin' 
sail,  I  heerd  the  cap'n  sayin'  low  and 
careful,  '  I  think  1  11  try  to  close  in  on 
that  big  fellow  myself,  Mr.  Martin,  and 
get  fast  if  I  can.  I  'd  like  it  if  you  '11 
stand  by  to  join  me  unless  that  cow 
requires  your  attention. 

"  '  Ay,  ay,  sir,'  was  the  mate's  low 
answer. 

"  *  There  's  somethin'  up,'  says  I  to 
[100] 


OF  THE  PINES 


myself,  '  an'  'pears  like  I  'm  to  open  the 
game.'  For  I  was  harpooner  o'  the 
cap'n's  boat,  an'  so  my  stand  was  in  the 
bow.  So  I  creeps  for'ard  an'  lays  my 
iron  ready  in  the  crutch. 

"  I  'd  ofttimes  pulled  the  harpoon- 
er's  oar  that  same  way  afore,  but  some- 
how I  could  n't  help  won'rin'  now  w'at 
was  in  the  cap'n's  mind.  He  was 
standin'  astern  headin'  the  boat  to  suit 
him,  with  the  same  low  voice  an'  a 
sharp  lookout. 

"  The  sea  was  smooth  an'  the  hot 
wind  jest  kep'  our  sail  taut  an'  no 
more.  I  heerd  the  lappin'  o'  the  water 
under  the  bow,  it  was  so  still.  An'  as 
I  was  harkin'  to  that  the  cap'n  said 
quiet-like,  '  He  's  extra  length,  Jason  ; 
mind  you  don't  strike  the  case.' 

"  Then  I  begun  to  understand.  He 
was  such  a  big  feller  that  the  cap'n 
was  afraid  I  wouldn't  low  fur  the 
length  o'  the  case  —  that  's  the  tough 

cover  above  the  skull  and  full  o'  clear 
[101] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


sperm.  So  I  kep'  an  eye  on  my  iron 
an'  waited. 

"The  cap'n  signaled  fur  a  third 
boat  to  be  lowered.  I  took  note  the 
mate's  boat  was  keepin'  nigh  us  to 
wind'ard. 

"  We  'd  gone  like  that  'bout  two 
miles,  and  fur  some  time  hed  seen  not 
a  sign  o'  that  whale.  All  on  a  sudden, 
p'raps  a  mile  to  le'w'rd,  I  saw  a  tre- 
menjous  spout  o'  foam  shootin'  up 
right  out  o'  the  water. 

"  *  There  she  white-  waters  !  '  I  cried, 
chokin'  down  my  voice  ;  *  bl-o-o-ow,  ah, 
bl-o-o-ow.' 

"  I  'd  scurce  got  the  words  out  Tore 
the  boat  swung  her  nose  round  an' 
we  was  headin'  straight  away  fur  that 
whale.  '  He  's  extra  length,  Jason,' 
was  runnin*  through  my  head.  '  Stand 
up,  Jason,'  the  cap'n  whispered.  As  I 
turned,  layin'  hold  o'  my  iron,  another 
spout  sprayed  up  dead  ahead  an'  nigher 
than  the  last  an'  flarin'  in  the  fresh'nin' 
[102] 


OF  THE  PINES 


wind.  That  bull  whale  was  comin' 
our  way  an'  we  was  drivin'  bows  on 
to  dispute  the  path.  We  knowed  it 
would  n't  take  many  minutes  to  eat  up 
a  mile  that  way. 

"I  breathed  somew'at  freer  when 
the  cap'n  veered  our  course  a  mite  ; 
but  Tore  long  I  stopped  breathin'  fur  a 
spell  altogether.  Fur  there,  less  'n  five 
hundred  yards  ahead,  the  water  seemed 
to  swell,  then  fall  away,  leavin'  a  huge 
black-lookin'  mass  which  begun  to  end 
up  in  the  water.  I  tell  ye,  sir,  that 
whale  was  a  fearsome  sight  rarin'  up 
there  in  the  lonely  sea  an'  raisin'  his 
black  stump  o'  a  head  till  we  saw  the 
white  bulk  o'  his  under  side.  'T  was 
clear  he  hed  been  makin'  his  way  back 
to  the  cow  an'  calf  'thout  any  idee  that 
anybudy  was  nigh  to  hinder  him  ;  an' 
't  was  soon  almighty  clear  he  felt  like 
swearin'  at  our  imperdence.  We 
looked  purty  small  to  him,  I  s'pose, 
out  there  with  naught  but  sea  an'  sky 
[103] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


in  sight  ;  leastwise  we  felt  that  way. 
Anyhow,  he  come  down  in  the  water 
with  a  roarin'  splash  an'  started  on. 

"Jest  as  he  was  comin'  alongside, 
the  cap'n's  boat  swung  round  an'  shot 
toward  him.  *  Give  it  to  him,  Jason,' 
shouted  the  cap'n  ;  '  let  him  have  it, 
man,  now  !  now  !  ' 

"While  his  voice  rung  an'  roared 
behind  me  I  flung  my  harpoon  with 
all  the  might  I  hed,  an'  sunk  it  full 
length  in  the  bulge  o'  his  side. 

"  '  Give  him  another,  Jason  ;  give 
him  another,  man,  quick  !  '  thun'ered 
the  cap'n,  as  I  seized  my  second  iron 
an'  hurled  it  with  a  des'prit  plunge 
just  in  time  to  get  fast  low  down. 

"'Out  with  the  line,'  the  cap'n 
cried.  I  grabbed  the  box-line  —  that's 
the  spare  coil  o'  the  harpoon  rope  in 
the  bows  —  an*  heaved  it  overboard. 
Then,  with  the  whale  headin'  into  the 
wind  which  bore  us  off,  we  fell  away  ; 
an'  the  whale  line,  which  lays  coiled  in 
[  104] 


OF  THE  PINES 


tubs  a  couple  o'  hun'erd  fathoms  long, 
begun  runnin'  out  in  the  water.  The 
mast  was  unshipped,  oars  manned,  an' 
then  we  went  back  at  that  whale. 
Fur  nigh  eighty  fathoms  'r  so  to  wind- 
'ard  there  he  lay  gammin',  I  mean 
doin'  nothin'  more  'n  gettin'  acquainted 
with  hisself  and  won'rin  w'at  hed 
happened. 

"  We  knowed  he  'd  get  gallied  'fore 
long,  which  is  to  wake  up  madder  'n  a 
fiend  an'  whap  an'  roll  till  the  sea 
froths  an'  roars,  then  run  like  a  wild 
hurricane  with  us  fastened  to  him  by 
them  irons  stickin'  in  his  side,  or  may- 
be he  'd  rush  at  our  boats  to  fight  it 
out  in  the  open.  So  we  went  in  on 
him  quick  while  he  was  gammin'. 

"  The  cap'n  saw  that  the  third  boat 
seemed  to  have  got  fast  so  as  to  take 
care  o'  the  cow,  so  he  signaled  to  the 
mate's  boat,  which  was  standin'  by 
'cordin'  to  orders.  The  two  boats  was 
comin'  in  on  him  quick  an'  still  as 
[105] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


men  could  do  it  ;  the  cap'n  and  the 
mate  was  standin'  at  the  bows  with 
lances  ready,  an'  the  harpooners  hed 
got  astern  with  their  long  steerin' 
oars  ;  when  all  to  onc't  the  line  swished 
through  the  water,  run  taut  in  no  time, 
the  nose  o'  the  boat  dipped,  the  rope 
begun  creakin'  round  the  loggerhead, 
an'  'fore  we  knowed  it  we  was  cuttin' 
through  the  water  like  fury  bound  fur 
nobudy  knowed  how  long  a  journey. 
Fur  that  whale  hed  sounded,  an'  some- 
where down  in  deep  water  where  we 
could  n't  meet  him  to  dispute  his  path, 
he  was  rushin',  rushin'  on,  an'  on, 
an'  on! 

"  Well,  we  held  onto  the  line,  play- 
in'  out  when  we  hed  to  an'  haulin'  in 
on  it  when  we  could.  The  wind 
seemed  to  have  broke  into  a  gale 
that  took  a  man's  breath.  But  all 
to  onc't  the  line  fell  slack  ;  the  boat 
shot  over  it  in  the  water,  then  slowed 
down. 

[106] 


OF  THE  PINES 


"  *  Comin'  up,  maybe,'  said  the  cap'n 
low  and  solemn-like.  Soon  the  mate's 
boat  come  alongside.  *  He  's  long 
enough  for  us  to  come  in  on  him 
together,  Mr.  Martin,  if  we  can,'  was 
all  the  cap'n  said. 

"The  race  hed  fetched  up  nigh  to 
where  the  third  boat  hed  gone  in  on 
the  cow.  While  we  was  haulin'  in 
our  slack  line  the  second  mate  called 
out:  'Iron  got  foul  o'  that  calf,  sir, 
an'  it  did  n't  get  fast  to  the  cow. 
She  's  sounded,  fur  all  I  can  make 
out' 

"Every  man  o'  us  set  his  eye  on 
the  cap'n.  We  knowed  there  was 
a  big  fight  ahead.  His  face  was 
powerful  quiet. 

"As  we  lay  rockin'  on  the  water 
an'  keepin'  a  sharp  lookout  —  it  wa'n't 
many  minutes,  I  s'pose,  but  it  seemed 
hours  —  the  second  mate  came  nigher 
an'  said,  *  She  was  desp'rit  wrathy,  sir, 
as  I  was  tryin'  to  git  the  iron  free.  It 
[107] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


hed  gone  clean  through  the  young  un 
an'  jabbed  the  old  un's  side.  Can't 
say  whether  'twas  the  hole  in  her 
side  or  the  iron  in  her  baby  that  made 
her  feel  so  bad;  but  she  was  desp'rit, 
sir,  the  last  I  seen  o'  her.' 

"  '  Cut  away  your  iron,  then,'  said 
the  cap'n,  'thout  takin'  his  eye  off  the 
water,  '  an'  stand  by  to  come  in  with 
your  lance.'  His  voice  was  wondrous 
quiet-like  as  he  said  that. 

"  By  the  way  line  hed  been  comin' 
up,  'twas  clear  we  hed  n't  long  to 
wait. 

"'Bl-o-o-ow,  oh,  Bl-o-o-owl'  rung 
out  the  second  mate's  voice.  Then  the 
water  broke  a  little  beyond  his  boat, 
an  up  comes  that  cow,  churnin'  the 
water  into  white  suds.  Then,  so  quick 
that  purty  nigh  all  hands  broke  out  in 
a  yell,  up  sprung  the  big  feller  at  her 
side  —  more  'n  twice  as  big  as  she 
was  —  with  a  spout  o'  red  foam,  an' 
my  two  irons  stickin'  up  out  o'  the 
[108] 


OF  THE  PINES 


water.    Then  them  two  beasts  made 
fur  us  ! 

"  The  roar  o'  the  sea  as  they  flung 
their  flukes  an'  pounded  the  water 
drownded  the  voices  o'  the  cap'n  an' 
the  mates  so  the  men  could  scurce 
hear  'em  in  their  own  boats.  The 
second  mate  got  an  iron  fast  to  the 
cow,  an'  she  tore  round  till  it  'peared 
like  she  'd  capsize  'em  by  the  sea  she 
raised.  But  the  big  feller  dashed 
on. 

"  We  hed  hauled  in  on  the  line  till 
our  boat  lay  off  'bout  his  own  length  as 
he  shot  by  us,  haulin'  us  round  as  he 
went.  Suddenly  he  stopped  an'  begun 
to  feel  after  us,  slappin'  the  sea  with 
great,  thun'rous  thwacks  o'  his  tail, 
turnin'  an'  turnin'  an'  snappin'  his 
jaws,  clack,  clack,  like  the  sound  o' 
dry  bones  struck  together.  He  rared 
up  fur  a  spell  an'  opened  his  jaws  as 
wide  as  a  barn  door  ;  then  the  monster 
dropped  flat  in  the  sea. 
[109] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


"  Jest  then  at  the  cap'n's  orders  all 
hands  bent  to  the  oars,  an'  I  held  the 
boat  with  the  steerin'  oar  till  she  shot 
in  on  his  flank  ;  then  the  cap'n  went 
at  him  with  the  lance  till  the  swirlin', 
foamin'  water  was  red  all  round  the 
boat.  The  mate  joined  him,  an'  you 
should  'a'  seen  the  cap'n's  lance  swing 
then  !  Onc't  the  boat  bumped  ag'in' 
the  monster's  side,  an'  the  cap'n  fol- 
lowed his  lunge,  an'  there  he  stood  on 
the  whale,  hangin'  on  to  his  lance  stuck 
deep  in  his  black  bulk.  I  managed  to 
get  the  boat's  head  in  so  he  leaped 
back  to  her  bow. 

"  Soon  we  heerd  the  cap'n  cry, 
*  Starn,  starn  all,  oh,  starn  !  '  The 
men  fell  on  the  oars  to  get  off.  The 
quick  eye  o'  the  cap'n  hed  seen  that 
the  battle  was  won  an'  the  black  giant 
was  settlin'  an'  soon  would  come  to 
his  flurry,  which  means  he  'd  rip  the 
sea,  throwin'  hisself  in  a  last  fit,  an' 
then  lay  still  furever. 
[110] 


OF  THE  PINES 


"  The  boat's  crew  understood  an' 
strained  every  muscle  ;  fur  they  had  n't 
furgot,  '  He  's  extra  length.'  But  jest 
at  that  minute  he  swung  his  nigh 
eighty  foot  budy  round,  tail  toward  us, 
an'  swep'  his  big  flukes  through  the 
water  with  an  up  swing  that  hurled  a 
flood  clean  over  the  boat.  I  felt  a 
tremenjous  shock  jest  as  the  water 
broke,  but  I  could  n't  see  w'at  it  was 
fur  the  downpour. 

"  It  'peared  like  we  'd  never  get  to 
see  what  hed  happened.  One  spell  I 
thought  we  was  clean  under  the  sea. 
Then  all  to  onc't  some'ow  I  fell  to 
thinkin'  o'  when  I  was  a  little  feller 
up  in  North  Truro  on  Cape  Cod  ;  an' 
soon  I  heerd  my  mother's  voice  learnin' 
me  to  say,  '  The  floods  have  lifted 
up,  O  Lord,  the  floods  have  lifted  up 
their  voice  ;  the  floods  lift  up  their 
waves.  The  Lord  on  high  —  '  I  heerd 
her  voice  that  fur,  then,  oh,  my  God  I 
all  in  a  minute  there  come  pourin' 
[111] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


through  my  mind  all  the  things  I  'd 
ever  done  since  then  —  all  in  a  rush, 
sir,  an'  't  was  wuss  than  the  noise  an' 
rushin'  o'  the  water  !  An'  then  it  was 
still  ag'in'  —  still  as  the  bottom  o' 
the  sea.  An'  then  I  heerd  her  voice 
onc't  more  :  *  Now,  say  this  —  say  it, 
Jason  ;  mother  '11  help  you,  —  say, 
Whither  —  shall  I  —  go  —  from  thy 
spirit  —  or  —  whither  shall  I  —  flee 
from  —  thy  presence.  If  I  take  —  the 
wings  —  of  —  the  morning  —  and  dwell 
in  the  —  uttermost  parts  —  of  the  sea 
—  even  there  '  —  oh,  sir,  right  there  I 
heerd  her  voice  cry  out,  *  Won't  you 
say  that  now,  Jason  ?  ' 

"Jest  then  I  found  I  could  see  ag'in'  ; 
an'  God  knows  how  wishful  I  was  to 
git  sight  o'  Cap'n  Endicott  ! 

"  Then  fur  the  fust  time  in  years  I 
fell  to  prayin'.  But  my  eyes  was  wide 
open.  Soon  I  saw  the  cap'n  wa'n't  in 
the  boat.  God  alone  can  know  how  I 
prayed  then  !  Fur  that  tail-swoop  o' 
[112] 


OF  THE  PINES 


the  dyin'  whale  hed  shore  off  the  bow, 
an'  hoisted  the  cap'n  in  air  ;  an'  where 
he  was  not  a  man  o'  us  could  then 
make  out. 

"  The  whale  was  lyin'  still  ;  his  fight- 
in'  days  was  done.  The  water,  all  red 
with  his  blood,  was  quietin'  down  some, 
when  off  to  starb'rd  I  saw  the  cap'n 
come  up,  his  arms  hangin'  limp.  I 
was  overboard  in  no  time.  The  mates 
made  fur  where  I  was  treadin'  an' 
keepin'  him  afloat.  Fur  he  was 
knocked  speechless,  an'  hurt  nobudy 
knowed  how  bad. 

"  Oh,  't  was  a  sight  to  see  them 
rough  fellers  liftin'  the  cap'n's  big, 
helpless  budy  an'  layin'  him  down 
gentle  as  a  woman  could  in  the  bottom 
o'  the  first  mate's  boat.  'T  was  nigh 
sunset,  an'  the  slant  light  glarin'  on  the 
bloody  water  made  the  men's  faces 
flicker  red  an'  ghastly.  At  last  with 
achin'  hearts  we  shipped  the  mast  an' 
set  sail,  leavin'  the  second  mate's  boat 
s  [  113  ] 


to  make  fast  to  our  costly  ketch.  So 
we  left  that  whale  with  all  his  extra 
length  lyin'  still  furever,  an'  his  mate 
an'  the  cap'n's  splintered  boat  —  all 
floatin'  in  the  big  red  patch  the  sea 
would  soon  wash  out.  But  there  was 
a  sorrow  in  our  hearts  that  even  the 
sea  could  n't  wash  away.  Fur  Cap'n 
Endicott's  face  tol'  us  better  'n  words 
could,  that  he  was  done  fur. 

"So  we  headed  fur  the  Sea  Gull 
lyin'  low  in  the  water  to  wind'ard  with 
three  lights  up  an'  down  in  her  riggin' 
under  a  hollow  moon.  And  all  night 
long,  while  all  hands  worked  cuttin'  in 
them  whale,  the  cap'n  laid  below ;  an' 
he  couldn't  speak  a  word,  'r  raise  a 
hand.  Only  he  kep'  movin'  his  eyes  's 
ef  to  say,  *  Homeward,  make  sail  for 
home.)M 


[114] 


X 

Another  Battle  and  a  Victory 


X 

Another  Battle  and  a  Victory 


THE  second   month   of  sailing 
northward  bound  was  dragging 
through  its  last  week,  and  the 
Sea  Grull  was  pushing  on  through  path- 
less solitude. 

The  days  had  been  wearisome  enough 
on  her  decks  and  down  below.  The 
watches  went  on  and  off  and  trimmed 
sail  and  longed  for  home,  while  the 
good  ship  sped  on  and  on,  climbing 
the  unending  slope  of  the  ocean's  hill. 
There  had  come  to  be  a  mournful 
monotony  in  the  sound  of  the  ship's 
bell  as  it  told  off  the  watches  —  eight 
bells,  two  bells,  four  bells,  six  bells, 
eight  bells  ;  so  it  rang  the  hours  of  each 
watch,  the  same  round  of  strokes  over 
and  over  again,  day  and  night.  Dole- 
ful enough,  indeed.  For  the  captain 
lay  below  helpless  as  a  babe,  his  wan 
[117] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


face  wasting  whiter  and  more  unearthly 
week  by  week. 

One  morning  Jason  sat  on  the  port 
bow  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  the 
speck  in  the  sea's  shimmer  which  would 
send  him  below  with  the  longed-for 
words,  "  Bermuda  sighted,  sir."  For 
he  had  been  relieved  from  ship's  duty 
and  set  to  attend  the  captain  since  the 
home-bound  voyage  began. 

There  it  was  at  last.  It  looked  like 
a  wee  clump  of  cloud  at  first  ;  then 
the  little  spot  took  on  clear  outlines. 
There  was  nothing  else  to  show  up  so 
in  all  that  waste  of  waters.  It  was 
Bermuda,  and  that  meant  that  home 
shores  were  just  ahead.  Down  below 
the  seamen  hurried. 

"  Are  you  sure,  Jason  ?  "  said  the 
pale  man  as  his  big  eyes  brightened  on 
the  pillow.  "  Are  you  sure  ?  Go  have 
another  look,  Jason,  —  look  till  you  're 
sure  ;  then  come  tell  me  what  you  can 
see." 

[118] 


OF  THE  PINES 


By  and  by  the  sailor  went  below 
again  with  his  face  beaming.  "  I  can 
see  the  green  o'  the  trees,  sir,  an'  the 
white  dots  here  an'  there  which  is  them 
clean  lookin'  houses  they  hev'  in  Ber- 
muda ;  an'  'fore  I  come  below  I  made 
out  that  purty  green  o'  the  water  in- 
side the  coral  reefs." 

"Then  we're  almost  home,  Jason." 
The  captain  closed  his  eyes  as  he  spoke. 
He  lay  still  and  said  no  more.  Soon 
Jason  saw  the  blanket  rising  and  fall- 
ing with  his  breathing.  As  he  watched 
the  sleeper  he  heard  the  hurrying  tread 
of  the  crew  abovedeck,  then  the  sound 
of  the  shifting  of  sails.  The  sailor 
sought  the  deck  to  feast  his  eyes  on 
the  sight  that  spoke  the  first  word  of 
home. 

The  wind  had  suddenly  freshened, 
and  rising  out  of  the  southeast  under 
the  sun  was  a  black  bank  of  cloud. 
The  good  ship  lay  over  as  the  sails 
filled  for  the  new  tack  and  began  to 
[119] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


quicken  her  tireless  pace.  So  they 
sped  on  hour  after  hour. 

Once  about  noon  the  captain  wak- 
ened and  Jason  gave  him  a  swallow  or 
two  of  water.  "  I  'm  heavy  with  sleep 
since  we  passed  Bermuda,"  he  said,  as 
he  lay  back  on  the  pillow  whence 
Jason  had  raised  his  head.  Then  he 
closed  his  eyes.  He  seemed  not  to 
note  the  roll  of  the  ship  or  to  hear  the 
creaking  of  her  timbers  and  cordage. 
Jason  left  him  in  deep  sleep. 

As  the  day  ended  and  four  bells 
sounded  the  second  dog  watch,  the 
ship  was  driving  before  a  howling  sou'- 
easter, pooping  seas  once  and  again 
and  dipping  her  nose  in  the  heave  of 
the  angered  water.  By  midnight  all 
hands  were  on  deck  ;  even  Jason  took 
hold  as  he  ran  up  now  and  then  from 
his  care  of  the  captain. 

The  helpless  man  was  now  awake 
and  calmly  harking  to  all  the  wild 
sounds  to  be  heard  in  a  storm-beaten 
[120] 


OF  THE  PINES 


ship  on  a  midnight  sea.  His  eyes 
shone  out  of  his  wasted  face  in  the 
light  of  the  little  sperm-oil  lamp  swing- 
ing as  the  toiling  ship  rolled  and  lunged. 
The  pounding  of  the  waves  against  the 
ship's  side  was  as  if  she  crashed  against 
rocks,  save  that  her  timbers  did  not 
burst  and  splinter. 

"  They  're  keeping  her  well  off  shore, 
are  they,  Jason  ?  " 

"  Well,  out  to  sea  yit,  sir,  an'  drivin' 
no'thwest'ard  like  the  wind." 

"  What  sail  are  they  carrying  ?  " 

"  Under  bare  poles,  sir  ;  maintopm'st 
overboard  ;  stays'!  set  a  spell  ago,  sir, 
to  keep  her  from  broachin'  to  ;  can't 
say  'bout  that  now,  sir." 

"And  I  hear  the  pumps  at  work, 
Jason  ?  " 

"  These  two  hours,  sir." 

"  Can  you  be  spared  to  stay  by  me, 
lad  ?  " 

"  'T  was  the  mate's  orders,  sir, 
last  time  I  come  below;  said  fur 
[121] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


me  not  to  leave  you  savin'  as  you 
ordered." 

*'  Then  I  'd  like  it  if  you  '11  get  that 
little  Bible  in  my  chest  there." 

Jason  clung  to  the  timbers  of  the 
cabin,  got  the  book  out  and  held  it  up 
where  the  captain  could  see  it. 

"  That  's  it.  Can  you  find  places  in 
the  Bible?" 

"  I  used  to  know  how,  sir.  I  know 
where  the  book  o'  Psalms  used  to 
be." 

"  That  's  where  I  was  wishing  you 
to  read  from  for  me,  Jason.  Find  the 
One  Hundred  and  Seventh  Psalm." 

"  My  mother  used  to  learn  me  some- 
thin'  out  o'  that  chapter  o'  Psalms,  sir, 
an'  I  'd  orter  find  that." 

Bracing  his  body  against  the  wall 
near  the  swinging  lamp,  he  fumbled 
the  thin  leaves,  wetting  his  rough  thumb 
while  his  voice  told  off  the  letters,  x-c-i, 
x-c-ii,  and  so  on  to  x-c-i-x.  Then  the 
captain  said,  "  Go  on,  Jason  ;  c  is  the 
[122] 


OF  THE  PINES 


hundredth,  you  know  ;  keep  on  turn- 
ing till  you  come  to  c-v-ii." 

"  Here  't  is,  sir." 

"  Now,  find  the  twenty-third  verse." 

"  There  's  a  mark  right  by  that  verse, 
sir." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  captain,  with  a  quick 
intake  of  breath.  "  Read  as  far  as  that 
mark  goes,"  he  added  at  last. 

Jason's  face  lighted  up  as  he  saw 
words  which  he  knew  when  a  boy.  So 
he  began  to  read.  The  captain  closed 
his  eyes  and  lay  listening  while  Jason's 
voice  sounded  amid  the  roar  and  crash 
of  the  embattled  sea  and  the  moans  of 
the  frenzied  ship  : 

"  They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in 
ships,  that  do  business  in  great  waters  ; 

"  These  see  the  works  of  the  Lord, 
and  his  wonders  in  the  deep." 

The  bellowing  of  the  assailing  sea 
broke  now  into  one  resounding  boom, 
and  the  ship  seemed  to  stop  stock-still 
under  the  spell  of  that  crash. 
[123] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


Jason  glanced  at  the  captain's  face. 
His  eyes  were  opened,  but  that  was 
all.  Not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  he 
went  on  reading  : 

"For  he  commandeth,  and  raiseth 
the  stormy  wind,  which  lifteth  up  the 
waves  thereof. 

"  They  mount  up  to  the  heaven, 
they  go  down  again  to  the  depths  ; 
their  soul  is  melted  because  of  trouble. 

"  They  reel  to  and  fro,  and  stagger 
like  a  'drunken  man,  and  are  at  their 
wit's  end. 

"  Then  they  cry  unto  the  Lord  in 
their  trouble,  and  he  bringeth  them 
out  of  their  distresses. 

"  He  maketh  the  storm  a  calm,  so 
that  the  waves  thereof  are  still. 

"  Then  are  they  glad  because  they 
be  quiet  ;  so  he  bringeth  them  unto 
their  desired  haven." 

The  voice  ceased. 

"  The  mark  ends  there,  sir." 

There  was  no  answer. 
[124  ] 


OF  THE  PINES 


Jason  stared  open-eyed  at  the  white 
face  on  the  pillow.  The  sunken  eyes 
were  closed.  His  heart  well-nigh 
stood  still.  Then  he  saw  the  slow 
rise  and  fall  near  the  throat  which 
told  him  the  captain  was  still  breath- 
ing. In  his  weakness  he  had  sunk 
into  sleep  under  the  spell  of  the 
cherished  passage. 

Ere  long  Jason  saw  the  thin  lips 
move  and  heard  a  sound  as  of  words. 
Crawling  toward  the  sleeper  and  cling- 
ing to  the  bunk-board,  he  held  his  ear 
close  to  the  captain's  face.  The  ship 
lurched  and  rose  with  a  long  heaving 
of  helplessness  as  Jason  heard  the 
words,  — 

"  It  —  matters  —  little  —  now  —  Lorena, 
Life's  —  tide  —  is  —  ebbing  —  out  —  so  —  fast." 

The  sailor  sank  on  the  floor  like 
one  smitten  down  by  a  blow  death- 
laden. 

As  he  lay  there,  he  heard  the  voice 
[125] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


of  the  dreamer,  raised  now  as  when  a 
man  cries  out  in  his  sleep  : 

"  'T  was  —  not  thy  —  woman's  —  heart  —  that  — 

spoke  ; 
Thy  heart  —  was  —  ever  true  —  to  me  —  " 

There  was  a  pause,  with  heavy 
breathing  ;  then  the  voice  went  on  : 

"A  duty  —  stern  and  pressing  —  broke 

The  tie  —  that  linked  —  my  soul  —  with  thee." 

"  Hev  mercy,  O  my  God  !  "  cried 
the  sailor,  raising  himself  to  his 
knees. 

That  piercing  cry  roused  the  sleeper. 

"  Did  you  finish  the  verses,  Jason  ?  " 
asked  the  captain,  gazing  about  in  a 
brief  bewilderment.  "  I  think  I  — 
lost  myself  in  sleep.  Did  you  read 
about  '  stilling  the  waves  '  and  '  so  he 
bringeth  them  unto  their  desired 
haven'?" 

"  I  did,  sir."  Then  Jason  braced 
himself  to  speak  his  heart  ;  but  the 
captain  went  on  : 

[126] 


O  F  THE  PINES 


"  Jason,  if  we  never  make  port,  — 
if  she  has  found  her  match  at  last  and 
I  go  down  with  her,  and  you  being 
able-bodied  keep  afloat  and  get  ashore 
-  1  want  you  to  go  to  Ruth  for  me 
as  soon  as  you  can.  Tell  her  I  said 
she  has  been  a  good  and  loving  wife,  — 
and  tell  her  I  sent  my  gratitude  and 
love.  You  won't  forget,  Jason,  will 
you  ?  —  gratitude  and  love." 

"  Cap'n,  may  I  say  somethin'  'fore 
you  trust  me  with  that  message  ?  " 

Jason  took  the  captain's  limp  hand 
and  held  it  in  both  his  own.  "  You 
was  talkin'  in  your  sleep  jest  now,  sir  ; 
an'  I  done  a  wicked  thing  onc't,  an' 
w'at  you  said  broke  me  down  ;  and 
I  '11  go  to  the  bottom  with  this  old 
ship  myself  'fore  I  '11  go  ashore  with 
that  sin  unconfessed." 

A  look  of  poise  came  in  the  captain's 
face  like  that  of  the  days  of  his  manly 
strength. 

"  Say  on,  lad." 

[127] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


"  You  was  talkin'  out  o'  an  old  song 
in  your  sleep,  sir.  It  was  'bout 
*  Lorena,'  and  oh,  sir,  years  ago  I  fol- 
lered  you  one  night,  an'  I  heerd  that 
song  sung  to  you,  an'  I  wanted  you  to 
marry  my  cousin  Ruth.  An'  the 
devil  got  into  me  when  you  asked  me 
to  carry  that  letter  to  Miss  Abigail,  an' 

—  cap'n,  —  God  pity  me  —  I  changed 
them  Bible  verses  you  put  in,  sir,  so 
she  thought  you  'd  throwed  her  over- 
board.     But  Tore  she  looked  at  her 
Bible,  sir,  she  took  a  card  out  o'  her 
dress  which  was  already  writ  on,  an' 
she  give  it  to  me  an'  tol'  me  to  hurry 
with  it  to  you  'fore  your  ship  got  away 

—  this  poor  old  Sea  Gull  fightin'  her 
last  battle  now  alone  in  the  dark  ! 

"An',  cap'n,  w'at  I  called  up  to 
you  from  the  boat  when  you  come  aft 
wa'n't  w'at  was  on  that  card  at  all. 
'Twas  somethin'  altogether  differ  'nt, 
sir." 

Great  glistening  tears  had  trickled 
[128] 


OF  THE  PINES 


down  on  the  captain's  quivering  lips. 
With  laboring  helplessness  he  tried  to 
speak,  until  at  last  these  words  came  : 
"  Can  you  remember  what  was  on  that 
card  ?  " 

"  I  never  could  furgit,  God  knows, 
sir.  It  has  burned  my  eyes  like  hell 
flames  since  the  hour  that  whale 
caught  us  foul  and  knocked  the  life 
out  o'  you." 

"  Tell  me  what  it  was,  Jason." 

"  'T  was  this,  sir,  —  '  Ruth,  1  :  16,  17. 
A.  R.  '  " 

"Find   it!    find   it-!  —  O    Jason  - 
find  that  1  —  quick  !  " 

Captain  Endicott's  hands  were  shorn 
of  power;  as  for  Jason,  his  confession 
had  shaken  him  until  his  trembling 
was  pitiful  as  he  braced  himself  against 
the  ship's  roll  and  plunge  and  began 
to  search  for  the  little  book  of  Ruth. 
Many  a  time  have  the  Bible's  leaves 
trembled  under  the  touch  of  the 
troubled  ;  but  never  more  than  in  that 
9  [  129  ] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


night  of  storm  under  the  glimmer 
of  the  little  sperm  light. 

Suddenly  he  looked  at  the  captain 
with  blank  dismay.  He  could  not 
find  Ruth.  That  moment  was  agony. 
But  the  gaze  of  those  great  eyes  in 
the  bunk  seemed  to  steady  him.  Once 
more  he  began  to  turn  the  leaves.  At 
last  they  opened  to  that  name,  Ruth. 
Then  holding  the  book  with  a  close 
clutch  he  began  to  read  : 

"  Entreat  me  not  to  leave  thee  "  — 

The  captain  groaned  and  cried 
out,  "Oh,  there's  a  mark  by  that* 
too,  —  we  read  that  together  one 
night." 

Then  turning  his  face  to  the  pillow 
now  wet  with  his  tears,  he  said,  "  Read 
on  !  read  on  !  " 

Peering  through  his  tears,  and 
steadying  hand  and  voice  with  a  great 
effort,  Jason  sounded  the  words  : 

"  For  whither  thou  goest,  I  will  go  ; 
and  where  thou  lodgest,  I  will  lodge  : 
[180] 


OF  THE  PINES 


thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy 
God  my  God  : 

"  Where  thou  diest,  will  I  die,  and 
there  will  I  be  buried  " 

Here  his  speech  broke  and  was 
stifled  ;  the  cabin  was  voiceless.  The 
thundrous  boom  of  the  sea  against  the 
ship's  side  was  followed  by  the  rush  of 
the  water  washing  over  the  decks  and 
the  sullen  splashing  in  the  hold. 

As  Jason  heard  these  sounds  com- 
passing him  about,  he  felt  that  even 
the  surging  sea  could  not  wash  his  soul 
clean,  so  foul  was  the  sin  of  his  youth, 
the  heartless  treachery,  the  festering 
selfishness,  uncovered  now  at  last. 
But  somehow  he  found  a  kind  of  relief 
in  having  confessed  all.  And  then  he 
prayed. 

After  a  time  the  captain  turned  up 
his  face  from  the  pillow.  He  saw  the 
tousled  hair  of  the  sailor's  bowed  head. 
A  great  compassion  awoke  within  him, 
He  fixed  a  wishful  gaze  on  the  peni- 
[131] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


tent.  His  fingers  trembled  as  though 
he  would  lay  his  hand  upon  the  head. 
But  no,  he  was  as  one  bound. 

A  moment  later,  between  the  waves 
leaping  against  the  cabin  skylight  the 
gray  of  dawn  caught  his  eye.  His  lips 
quivered  as  though  driven  from  within 
to  speak  what  they  could  not  bear. 
But  at  last  the  heart  of  the  man  had 
its  way.  And  these  were  the  words 
that  sounded  in  the  little  stateroom  : 
"Jason,  lad,  look  up  !  It  is  day- 
break !  " 


[132] 


XI 

Q/"  ^^  Transgressor 


is  Hard 


XI 

o/"  M^  Transgressor  is  Hard 


THROUGH  the  day  that   fol- 
lowed, the  wind  veered  point 
by  point  until  the  gale  roared 
up  from  the  south,  driving  the  vessel 
almost  due  north.     The  sea,  weary  at 
last  of  leaping  upon  the  torn  and  moan- 
ing but    still    unyielding    craft,   now 
heaved  around  her  in  heavy  wrath  and 
flung  her  with   sullen,   pitiless   scorn. 
The  thud  of  the  pumps  never  ceased. 

The  water  was  at  last  lowering  some- 
what in  her  hold,  and  the  mate, 
drenched  and  clinging  amid  the  splin- 
tered wreckage  of  the  deck,  began  to 
hope  that  she  might  escape  driving  in 
on  the  Jersey  coast  and  even  outride 
the  tempest. 

It  was  a  grim  witness  to  the  pluck 
of   seafaring    men  when    eight    bells 
[135] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


sounded  noon,  though  every  man  still 
able  to  stand  was  toiling  on  and  on. 

For  hours  Jason  Cotter  had  been  at 
the  pumps.  This  labor  was  easing  his 
heart  of  deeper  waters  than  those  flood- 
ing the  decks  and  hold.  For  what  salt 
surge  is  like  unto  the  torrent  in  a  man's 
breast  when  his  sin  and  remorse  break 
over  his  soul  ! 

But  this  relief  was  only  while  he 
toiled.  The  moment  he  turned  from 
the  unsparing  motion  at  the  pumps, 
memory  and  grief  and  self-reproach 
rose  within  him  as  surely  as  the  water 
in  the  hold  when  the  pumps  ceased, 
only  far,  far  faster.  And  it  would  sink 
him,  overwhelm  him,  as  surely  as  the 
sea  the  ship  !  But  in  what  deeper 
abyss  ! 

At  the  sound  of  eight  bells  Jason  re- 
called his  duty  to  the  captain.  Cling- 
ing to  fast  timbers  and  the  life-line  set 
for  the  purpose,  he  made  his  way  along 
the  leaping  deck.  Then  there  came 
[136] 


OF  THE  PINES 


into  his  mind  words  taught  him  in 
boyhood.  It  was  as  if  a  voice  out 
of  the  storm  had  said,  "  The  way  of 
transgressors  is  hard" 

That  moment  marked  the  beginning 
of  a  great  change.  He  grasped  the 
timber  by  which  he  held  himself  on  the 
upturned  deck,  straightened  himself 
up  as  he  was  on  his  knees,  and  said, 
"  God  hev  mercy,  an'  show  me  what 
to  do,  an'  I  '11  do  it." 

Then  he  crawled  below  and  peered 
into  the  captain's  quarters.  Richard 
Endicott  lay  with  his  eyes  wide  open. 
There  was  a  look  on  his  face  void  of 
dismay  and  strangely  touched  with 
light. 

"  How  do  we  head  now,  Jason  ?  " 

"  Runnin'  'fore  the  wind,  sir,  an'  " 
he    peered   out  at  the   "telltale,"  as 
the  cabin  compass  was  called,  before 
he  added,  "due  no'th,  'r  thereabouts, 
sir." 

"Still  well  off  shore?" 
[137] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


"  No  land  sighted  yit,  sir,  but  no- 
budy  knows  how  fur  out  to  sea  ;  't  is 
powerful  thick  under  our  lee.  Water 
lowerin'  now  a  bit  in  the  hold,  sir." 

"Then  we  may  fetch  up  on  the 
south  shore  —  along  about  Seaconnet, 
maybe,  or  Martha's  Vineyard  ;  or  may- 
be we  '11  clear  Nantucket  and  the  Cape. 
Jason,  lad,  you  may  see  Highland 
Light  again  yet." 

The  captain  was  mindful  of  the 
sailor's  boyhood  home  in  the  village 
back  from  the  ocean  a  mile  or  more 
beyond  the  white  tower  lifting  its  un- 
failing light  on  the  bluffs  of  sand.  But 
his  heart  was  thinking  also  of  another 
Light,  and  wishing  that  the  sailor 
might  see  it  flash  out  in  the  storm  and 
dark. 

Presently  the  captain  bade  him  come 
close  to  his  pillow.  Jason  obeyed, 
dropping  to  his  knees. 

"  I  think  I  will  still  trust  you  with 
that  message  to  Ruth,  Jason.     When 
[138] 


OF  THE  PINES 


the  fire  of  the  Almighty  has  burned 
out  a  man's  sin,  and  sorrow  like  yours 
has  washed  through  his  soul  —  Jason, 
that  sin  is  done  for  !  So  you  '11  give 
that  message  to  Ruth  for  me,  won't 
you?" 

"  If  I  ever  set  foot  on  shore,  sir,  I 
will,  I  will  !  " 

"  Now  you  must  go  help  those  poor 
fellows  keep  the  ship  afloat.  But, 
Jason,  put  that  little  Bible  of  mine 
in  your  pocket  before  you  go.  And 
when  you  get  a  chance,  I  want  you 
to  hunt  out  the  place  where  it  tells 
about  One  who  stood  on  the  deck  of 
a  fishing-vessel  when  the  waves  beat 
into  the  ship  so  that  she  was  filling 
fast  —  stood  there  and  said,  '  Peace,  be 
still.'  You  '11  find  a  mark  by  it,  some- 
where in  the  fore  part  of  the  book 
called  Mark.  You  can  remember  that 
way  of  finding  it,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir,   I   won't  furgit,  I   won't 
furgit,"  was  the  pleading  answer. 
[139] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


As  the  captain  watched  the  book 
go  into  Jason's  pocket,  he  added,  "  It 
ends  like  this  :  *  Even  the  wind  and  the 


sea: 


There  was  a  pause.  Both  men 
heard  the  ceaseless  throb  of  the  pumps 
and  the  heavy  wash  of  the  sea  along 
the  ship's  side. 

"I'll  keep  you  for  only  one  thing 
more,  Jason.  I  'm  going  to  trust  you 
with  one  more  message." 

The  captain  knit  his  brows  and 
seemed  to  grapple  with  his  thoughts. 

"  If  you  get  to  land,  Jason,  and  if 
you  are  living  when  Ruth's  life  ends, 
and  if  Abigail  is  living,  too,  I  want 
you  to  do  this.  But  mind,  lad,  not 
until  Ruth  is  no  more.  Do  you 
understand  ? " 

Jason  raised  himself  to  his  feet.  A 
light  broke  over  his  haggard  face  at 
the  thought  of  doing  something  to 
make  good  as  far  as  a  man  may  the 
wrong  of  long  ago. 

[140] 


OF  THE  PINES 


"  I  understand,  sir,  an'  1  11  do  w'at 
you  want  me  to,"  he  said. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  then  to  Abigail, 
and  tell  her  all  you  have  told  me. 
For  she  has  thought  —  I  know  not 
what  —  of  me,  Jason,  all  these  years  ! 
And  I  want  you  to  tell  her  that  I 
loved  her  through  it  all  —  loved  her 
to  the  end." 

The  white  lips  quivered  and  the 
voice  failed.  But  the  captain  gathered 
all  his  flickering  strength  and  added  : 
"And  ask  her,  Jason,  to  let  you  take 
care  of  her  when  she  is  old,  and  —  and 
—  if  she  can  have  it  so,  to  let  you 
make  her  grave  beside  Ruth's  and 
mine.  Tell  her  I  ask  this  that  at 
least  the  last  words  of  her  message 
to  me  may  come  true." 

Then,  speaking  as  if  in  a  fond  reve- 
rie, he  repeated,  "  Where  thou  diest, 
will  I  die,  and  there  will  I  be  buried." 

There  was  another  moment  of  sus- 
pense.    At  last  Jason  moved.     Bend- 
[141] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


ing,  he  gently  pressed  his  lips  on  the 
wasted  brow.  And  before  their  faces 
parted,  he  said,  "Cap'n,  'fore  God  I 
promise." 

Then  the  great,  calm  eyes  closed. 
And  Jason  went  back  to  the  pumps. 


[142] 


XII 

The  Highland  Light 


XII 

The  Highland  Light 


TWO  days  —  four  days  --  five 
days,  they  scarce  knew  how 
many,  and  nights  of  measure- 
less blackness  sweeping  down  and 
deepening  the  roar  of  the  fury  pound- 
ing the  ship  and  bellowing  afar;  on 
and  on  they  were  driving,  and  they 
knew  not  whither.  The  storm-wind 
had  swept  to  the  southeast  again  ;  its 
frenzy  had  broken  all  bounds,  and  the 
whaler  had  long  been  shipping  seas 
that  made  the  vessel  crouch  to  her 
gunwales  and  wallow  groaning  in  the 
seething  brine. 

Long  since  in  the  wild  dark,  by  the 
glare  of  a  torch-dip  held  above  the 
water  splashing  through  the  hold,  they 
had  carried  the  captain  to  the  deck 
lest  he  be  drowned  in  his  berth.  In 
the  terror  of  the  night  they  knew  not 
10  [  145  ] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


that  they  bore  his  body  only.  And 
then  —  they  scarce  knew  when  —  the 
ocean  had  lifted  his  unresisting  form 
and  had  borne  him  from  the  Sea  Gull  's 
deck  forever. 

But  the  old  whale-ship  would  not 
yield  ! 

Clinging  still  to  the  foundering  craft, 
a  few  famished  men  now  watched  the 
daylight  glooming  again  to  the  night. 
The  wind  had  veered  to  the  east, 
though  as  yet  they  knew  not  by  any 
sign  of  earth  or  sky  whence  came  the 
fury's  breath.  A  large  carrot  floating 
round  the  ship,  like  a  waif  of  the 
world,  was  thrown  up  amid  the  deck's 
wreckage.  They  were  gnawing  it  by 
turns  with  pitiful  hunger  and  watch- 
ing a  long,  white  line  of  sand  bluffs 
dimly  looming  ahead.  At  last  they 
knew  that  they  were  driving  on  the 
shore  of  Cape  Cod. 

Now  they  could  make  out  the  white 
tower  of  Highland  Light  rising  above 
[146] 


OF  THE  PINES 


the  upper  line  of  the  long  bluff  with 
the  clouds  scurrying  round  it.  And 
now,  clear  and  steadfast  as  a  star,  the 
light  broke  forth.  The  keepers  had 
set  their  evening  watch  !  —  first  sign 
of  mercy,  first  token  that  God's  world 
still  held  men  with  pity  and  love  in 
their  breasts. 

And  so  the  night  closed  down  on 
the  booming  seas  off  Highland  Light. 

The  dull,  cold  light  of  daybreak  was 
now  in  the  air.  Jason  Cotter  heard 
voices  and  felt  the  strength  of  arms 
about  his  body  as  he  opened  his  eyes 
enough  to  see  that  the  night  was  leav- 
ing the  clouds.  He  could  not  make 
out  how  things  were  in  his  case,  and 
thought  he  was  dreaming.  Feebly  he 
clutched  at  something  flapping  against 
his  head,  with  the  old  resolve  of  the 
sailor  to  cling  to  the  last. 

"You're  all  right,   man  —  needn't 
hold   on   any  longer,"  a  voice   called 
kindly  and  close  to  his  ear. 
[147] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


This  roused  him  and  at  length  he 
began  to  know  that  men  were  carry- 
ing him  —  yes,  they  were  clambering 
up  the  great  sandy  bluff. 

The  life-savers  bore  him  to  the  deep 
hollow  in  the  pasture-land  south  of  the 
Light  and  laid  him  in  the  shelter  of 
the  thick  clumps  of  bayberry.  Then 
they  went  down  the  bluff  again  ;  for 
the  vanquished  old  whale-  ship  was 
seen  through  the  wild  spray  yielding 
up  her  trust  of  men  and  cargo  for  the 
sea  to  dash  on  the  shore  in  its  wrath. 

Meanwhile  the  villagers  and  the 
families  of  the  light-keepers  were  hur- 
rying over  the  Highland  pastures, 
bringing  blankets  and  warm  drinks 
and  food,  with  the  solace  of  their  own 
warm  hearts  ;  and  at  length  the  light 
began  to  come  back  in  the  glassy  eyes. 

Then  Jason  Cotter  looked  about  him 

and  knew  that  he  was  home  again,  out 

of  the  depths  of  the  sea  at  last.    There 

in  the  little  crowd  gathered  from  the 

[148] 


OF  THE  PINES 


village  were  faces  of  men  he  had  not 
seen  for  years  ;  and  round  him  lay  the 
rolling  Highland  ground,  where  often 
as  a  boy  he  had  loved  to  stand  watch- 
ing the  ships  glide  by  to  the  ports  be- 
yond his  sight.  There  he  had  often 
longed  to  go  with  them. 

Then  there  came  in  his  heart  the  joy 
that  no  man  can  put  into  words  —  the 
strange  joy  of  one  who  as  a  man  of 
sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief  is 
driven  back  home  by  life's  storm,  and 
finds  himself  once  more  as  a  little 
child,  feeling  the  touch  of  the  love 
that  is  on  earth  and  the  deeper  enfold- 
ing of  the  love  in  heaven. 


[1491 


XIII 

Even  the  Wind  and  the 
Sea" 


XIII 

"  Even  the  Wind  and  the  Sea  " 


THERE'S  where  we  found 
him,  lyin'  on  the  sand  in  the 
lee  o'  that  rock  there,"  said 
the  old  man,  breaking  away  from  the 
spell  of  the  tale  he  had  been  telling. 
He  brushed  his  tear-wet  face  with  the 
back  of  his  hand,  as  he  stood  pointing 
to  the  long  rock  called  by  dwellers  in 
those  parts  "  Half-  Way  Rock."  You 
may  find  it  any  day  by  noting  the 
chief  in  that  picket-line  of  boulders 
which  stand  with  their  feet  in  the 
sea  keeping  guard  on  the  shore  of 
Seaconnet. 

"  There  's  where  we  found  him,"  he 
repeated  ;  "  an'  there  's  where  we  laid 
him,"  pointing  now  back  to  the  Sea- 
connet burying-ground.  I  could  see 
the  elm  tree  in  the  midst  of  its  quiet- 
ness lifting  its  arms  under  the  glow  of 
[153] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


a  sunset  sky  as  if  to  keep  a  ceaseless 
benediction  over  the  clustered  stones. 
Then  his  hand  fell  to  his  side  and  his 
head  dropped  on  his  breast.  But  after 
a  moment  he  went  on. 

"  An'  then  fur  many  a  year  I  kep' 
watch  that  Ruth  should  want  fur 
naught.  An'  many  a  summer's  day  I 
come  with  her  to  carry  fresh  earth  an' 
water  fur  the  flowers  she  kep'  a  growin' 
on  his  grave.  An'  somew'at  oft  she 
told  me  how  a  lady  hed  sent  her  a 
little  letter  comfortin'  her,  an'  some 
flowers  'r  sometimes  flower  seeds  fur 
her  husband's  grave.  Oh,  that  made 
the  years  weariful  fur  me  !  But  I 
kep'  on  carin'  fur  Ruth. 

"  I  was  cap'n  o'  a  mack'rel  schooner 
in  them  days,  so  I  would  never  be 
long  out  o'  port.  The  lady  come  to 
see  Ruth  after  a  spell,  an'  she  an'  Ruth 
seemed  to  love  one  another.  An'  one 
day  I  saw  her.  She  was  settin'  with 
Ruth  by  that  same  little  parlor  window 
[154] 


OF  THE  PINES 


where  I  used  to  watch  the  lamp  years 
before.  That  sight  made  the  tears 
come  —  I  could  n't  help  it.  So  I  fell 
to  weedin'  Ruth's  flower-beds. 

"By  'n'  by  I  heerd  her  singin'  soft-like 
inside  with  Ruth.  The  voice  sounded 
out  by  the  flower-beds  so  's  I  heerd 
what  she  sung.  It  was  '  Jesus,  Lover 
of  my  Soul,'  an'  all  'bout  flyin'  to  his 
bosom  while  the  tempest  is  high  and 
the  billows  roll,  and  his  guidin'  'em  at 
last  into  the  haven  when  the  storm  o' 
life  is  past. 

"  I  could  n't  see  the  flowers  fur  the 
tears  that  was  droppin'  on  'em  ;  but 
God  knows  how  glad  I  was  them  two 
lone  women  loved  each  other  !  An'  I 
kep'  on  weeding  Ruth's  flower-beds. 

"Things  went  on  so  nigh  twenty 
years  ;  an'  I  stood  my  watch  lest  Ruth 
should  want  fur  somethin'  I  could  send 
her  way.  Then  one  day  we  laid  Ruth 
alongside  her  husband. 

"  That  very  night  I  went  an'  stood 
[155] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


by  them  two  graves.  Fur  I  knowed 
I  could  n't  keep  my  promise  if  I  did  n't. 
Somethin'  kep'  sayin'  to  me  on  the 
way,  'Why  not  let  bygones  be  by- 
gones ?  '  an'  then  't  was,  '  Wait  a  while, 
anyhow  !  '  But  I  did  n't  listen  nur 
turn  back. 

"The  wind  begun  whisperin'  hard 
in  my  ear  as  I  stood  by  Cap'n  Richard's 
grave  ;  then  I  heerd  the  sea  callin' 
through  the  dark.  The  elm  tree 
creaked  in  the  wind  an'  made  me  mind- 
ful o'  the  ship's  timbers  the  night  I 
promised.  Then  I  took  off  my  cap, 
an'  'fore  I  knowed  it  I  was  sayin'  out 
loud,  '  Jason  Cotter  will  keep  his  word 
an'  be  true  to  ye  this  time,  cap'n.' 
An'  I  did. 

"  The  very  next  day  I  set  out  'long 
the  north  road.  'T  was  gettin'  dark  as 
I  sighted  the  clump  o'  tall  pines  on  the 
road  goin'  off  toward  the  shore.  When 
I  turned  in  to  go  up  to  her  door,  I  saw 
the  tree  —  the  very  one  I  stood  under 
[156] 


OF  THE  PINES 


that  night  more  'n  thirty  years  back  ; 
only  't  was  bigger  now  an'  rough  lookin'. 
A  window  was  open  an'  some  one  was 
playin'  quiet-like  on  the  piano  an' 
singin'  a  bit  now  an'  then  in  the  dark. 
'T  was  a  woman's  voice.  An'  1  could 
tell  from  the  sound  o'  it  that  she  was 
alone. 

"  *  I  knowed  you  an'  Ruth  Endicott 
was  frien's,  an'  so  you  would  n't  mind 
my  comin','  I  begun. 

"  Then  when  she  spoke  gentle  to  me, 
an'  I  hed  told  her  how  I  hed  sailed  many 
a  year  with  Cap'n  Endicott,  an'  she  hed 
listened  a  while  's  ef  wond'rin'  some 
why  I'd  come  but  smilin'  kind-like  as 
I  talked  on,  I  said  :  '  An'  you  won't 
mind,  will  ye,  ef  I  say  I  knowed  you  an' 
the  cap'n  used  to  be  friends  —  an'  ef  I 
tell  the  message  he  give  me  fur  ye  ?  ' 

"  The  smile  went  out  like  a  candle 
in  a  puff  o'  wind. 

"  *  But,  my  poor  man,  he  died  twenty 
years  ago,'  she  said. 

[157] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


"  '  But  Ruth  was  laid  in  her  grave 
only  yisterday,'  I  answered. 

"  She  set  lookin'  at  me  a  spell  with- 
out a  word. 

"  Then  I  took  out  the  cap'n's  little 
Bible.  It  was  so  warped  an'  stiff  from 
the  salt  water  that  night  off  Highland 
Light  I  feared  she  would  n't  know  it  ; 
so  I  found  that  place  the  cap'n  hed 
told  me  'bout  —  fur  I  knowed  that 
best  o'  all  —  an'  I  put  my  finger  on 
the  mark  under  the  words,  '  Even  the 
wind  and  the  sea.' 

"  She  looked  hard  where  that  mark 
was.  Then  her  head  bowed  low  an' 
was  still. 

"  As  I  set  there  holdin'  the  little 
book  open,  an'  not  knowin'  what  else 
to  do,  I  took  note  her  hair  was  like  dark 
waves  an'  there  was  spots  o'  white  here 
an'  there.  Some'ow  it  made  me  think  o' 
the  sea  when  the  wind  has  been  bio  win' 
stidy  fur  days  with  a  long  sweep.  Then  I 
saw  tears  droppin'  on  her  clasped  hands. 
[158] 


OF  THE  PINES 


"  By  'n'  by  she  looked  up  with  grief- 
weary  eyes  —  looked  straight  into  mine, 
an'  then  all  she  said  was,  '  Go  on, 
Jason.'  'Twas  the  fust  time  she'd 
called  me  Jason,  an'  somehow  it 
sounded  wondrous  comfortin'.  So  I 
begun. 

"  I  tol'  her  'bout  that  night  in  the 
storm  at  sea  an'  how  the  cap'n  give 
me  his  message  to  Ruth  an'  then  how 
'twas  he  give  me  a  message  fur  her. 
I  said  it  just  as  he  tol'  me  to,  '  Tell 
her  I  loved  her  through  it  all  —  loved 
her  to  the  end.'  And  then  I  did  n't 
stop.  I  tol'  her  how  I  hed  changed 
the  Bible  verses  in  the  letter  I  brought 
her,  an'  how  I  hed  lied  'bout  what  was 
on  her  card  as  the  Sea  Gull  was  puttin' 
out  to  sea.  An'  I  tol'  how  that  night 
in  the  storm  the  cap'n  hed  said  over  in 
his  sleep  some  words  from  the  song 
she  used  to  sing  fur  him,  an'  how  that 
broke  me  down  so  I  could  n't  let  him 
die  without  her  message.  An'  then  I 
[159] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


come  to  how  wishful  he  was  that  least- 
wise the  last  words  might  come  true 
an'  she  be  laid  beside  him  an'  Ruth  — 
when  all  was   over.     An'   through   it 
all  she  set  a-listenin'  an'  —  an'  " 

There  was  a  quick  silence.  Cap- 
tain Cotter's  eyes  were  still  fixed  on 
mine  ;  but  the  drawn  lips  pulsed 
soundless  with  each  breath.  Then  out 
of  the  silence  he  raised  his  blunt  hand 
and  stood  mute  while  the  toil-worn 
fingers  trembled  above  his  head.  And 
what  is  more  pitiful  than  old  fingers  ! 

Without  lowering  his  hand  he  at 
last  forced  sound  to  the  quavering  lips. 
Brokenly  these  words  came  out  into 
the  still  air:  "When  I  stand  up,  sir, 
in  the  Judgment  Day  —  an'  tell  out 
all  I  Ve  ever  done  —  I  know  —  I  '11 
rec'lect  that  night  —  an'  her  eyes  — 
a-lookin'  at  me  —  an'  a-listenin'  !  An' 
I  mean  to  speak  up  then  —  humble- 
like  —  an'  say,  *  Yes,  God,  I  tol'  her 
all  —  I  kep'  my  word  !  ' 
[160] 


XIV 

A  Vision  Beautiful 


XIV 

A  Vision  Beautiful 


HOW  long  Captain  Cotter  stood 
in  silence  has  never  been  clear 
in  my  memory.  I  recall  only 
that  my  thoughts  were  brooding  on  his 
gentleness  in  uncovering  Miss  Abigail's 
grief,  when  with  a  start  I  became  aware 
that  he  was  trying  to  speak  but  could 
not  utter  a  word.  My  first  concern 
was  for  the  unfinished  tale,  so  eager 
had  I  become  to  hear  its  end.  What 
if  he  should  be  overcome  now  and 
leave  the  mystery  of  those  words  on 
the  gravestone  untold  ?  A  keen  de- 
sire sprang  up,  like  a  blue  flame,  amid 
my  glowing  sympathies,  to  hear  how 
the  strange  words,  "  Who  should  have 
been  the  wife,"  came  to  be  so  used. 

Suddenly  his  bent  form  shook  ;  his 
eyes  were  drenched  ;  his  voice  was  en- 
gulfed with  sobs.     He  swung  his  arms 
[163] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


across  his  back  and  turned  away.  As 
he  tottered  off  I  saw  the  tattooed  wrist 
clutched  once  more  by  his  knotty  fin- 
gers. 

Dumbness  bound  me.  How  could  I 
stay  such  a  surge  in  an  old  man's 
breast  ! 

I  watched  him  rambling  with  bowed 
head  among  the  bayberry  bushes. 
Now  and  then  he  took  a  far  gaze 
seaward.  It  was  a  sight  to  make  a 
man  look  through  tears,  as  he  stood 
sky-covered  in  the  stillness  of  Seacon- 
net  shorelands,  an  old  heart  at  bay  be- 
fore its  rushing  memories. 

Recollections  of  the  only  time  I  ever 
saw  Abigail  Rockwell  were  stirring 
my  thoughts,  and  they  were  like  a 
breeze  laden  with  the  breath  of  pines. 
"  Teh1  him  of  her,"  some  good  angel 
whispered. 

In  hope  of  easing  his  laboring  heart 
I  strolled  toward  him. 

"Captain,  I  saw  Miss  Abigail  once." 
[164] 


OF  THE  PINES 


He  looked  up  with  a  wordless  gaze. 

"  She  was  nearly  eighty  then  ;  I  'd 
like  to  teU  you  of  the  talk  we  had." 

The  old  man  was  looking  into  the 
offing,  but  he  seemed  to  be  listening. 

I  did  not  forget  to  speak  of  the  beds 
of  asters  and  marigolds  that  lined  the 
walk  to  her  door.  I  told  of  the  bit  of 
lace  that  covered  her  thin  white  hair 
as  she  received  us  in  her  quiet  room, 
and  of  the  ancient  piano  back  of  her 
chair,  and  how  she  smiled  playfully  and 
said  she  used  to  sing  "  when  it  was  in 
its  prime  "  ;  told  him,  too,  of  the  little 
table  beside  her,  how  it  was  filled  with 
books,  and  how  she  put  her  hand  upon 
them  as  if  caressing  them,  and  said 
they  had  lain  on  that  table  since  they 
were  left  there  by  the  hands  that  wrote 
them. 

The  easing  of  the  captain's  face  was 
good  to  look  upon  ;  but  he  spoke  not 
a  word. 

Then  I  ran  on  in  still  cheerier  tone. 
[165] 


SAINT  ABIG'AIL 


"  She  seemed  to  have  no  end  of  sunny 
memories,"  said  I.  "  She  told  at  one 
time  of  a  June  morning  when  she  was 
barely  twenty.  It  was  the  Sabbath, 
and  one  of  her  father's  friends,  a 
courtly  gentleman  well  known  in  the 
state's  affairs,  met  her  on  the  church 
steps,  bowed  very  low  with  gallantry 
and  said,  '  How  do  you  do  this 
morning,  my  sweet  virgin?'  She 
smiled  over  the  memory  ;  and  as  she 
spoke  that  last  word  a  light  broke  in 
her  eyes,  warm  and  shadowless.  It 
made  me  wonder  why  such  a  woman 
had  lived  unwedded." 

The  captain's  brow  was  drawn  as  by 
pain.  I  hastened  to  speak  of  other 
things. 

"  After  a  time  she  leaned  toward  us, 
with  her  slender  hands  clasped  in  her 
lap,  and  talked  of  the  friends  of  her 
womanhood  ;  she  told  of  visits  in  that 
very  room  with  her  friend  of  Ames- 
bury  and  her  friend  of  Concord,  as  she 
[166] 


OF  THE  PINES 


called  them  half  playfully.  Then  to 
please  us  she  repeated  words  which 
these  and  other  men  of  deathless  names 
had  uttered  there.  Captain,"  said  I, 
"  it  was  as  if  she  were  lifting  the  leaves 
of  her  old  vines  out  in  the  sunshine 
and  plucking  clusters  of  winey  grapes 
for  us." 

The  old  man  smiled  now.  He 
started  to  speak. 

"  Can  ye  rec'lect  anything  'bout  w'at 
her  friends  said  when  they  come  to  see 
her?" 

He  seemed  to  know  what  was  com- 
ing each  time  I  started  to  repeat  some 
treasure  of  words.  He  would  stand 
with  his  head  turned  to  take  it  in, 
smiling  as  he  listened.  Ere  long  it  was 
clear  that  I  was  only  opening  the  dim 
treasure-house  of  his  own  memories. 

Dear  heart  !    Did  any  of  those  great 

men  who  delighted  in  her  gladsome- 

ness   ever  guess  what  she   did  when 

they  were  gone  ?     Did  any  of  them 

[167] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


ever  dream  that  the  old  man  into 
whose  beggared  spirit  she  carried  the 
riches  of  their  speech  had  robbed  her 
life  of  its  most  human  joy  ? 

While  this  query  was  kindling  my 
thought  the  captain  said,  "  'T  was  a 
wondrous  big  man  who  said  some 
words  to  her  onc't  'bout  the  clod  and 
the  diamond  with  the  sunlight  on  'em. 
Miss  Abigail  was  past  seventy  when 
he  come  down  from  Boston  one  sum- 
mer day,  young  and  happy  as  a  boy. 
By  'n'  by  she  come  out  with  him 
where  I  was  workin'  in  the  flower- 
beds, an'  he  shook  hands  with  me  an' 
said  some  words,  kind-like,  but  so  fast 
I  could  n't  think  o'  w'at  to  say.  An' 
she  tol'  me  after  he  was  gone  w'at  he 
said  to  her  'bout  the  clod  takin'  in  the 
sunlight  an'  the  diamond  givin'  it  out." 

I  did  not  tell  Captain  Cotter  how 

the  words   Miss  Abigail  repeated  to 

him  had  gone  through  the  world  since 

then  in  the  pages  of  the  great  sermon  ; 

[168] 


OF  THE  PINES 


for  I  was  wishing  to  lead  him  back  to 
his  story. 

So  I  told  him  how  as  she  talked  of 
that  saying  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun 
flooded  the  window  and  covered  her 
dear  old  form,  and  how  as  we  arose 
to  go  she  gave  us  her  hand,  her  face 
beaming  kindly  as  she  said,  "  There  's 
plenty  of  sunshine  to  make  your  lives 
bright,  if  only  you  yourselves  are  like 
jewels  instead  of  clods." 

"  So  we  left  her,  captain,  standing 
by  her  old  piano  and  the  table  with  its 
books,  all  in  the  warm  glow  of  the  Oc- 
tober sunset.  Out  by  the  gate  one 
who  has  been  with  me  in  many  a  path 
since  then,  said  in  a  whisper,  '  Look  ! 
Saint  Abigail  of  the  pines  !  '  I  turned, 
and  what  a  picture,  captain  1  She  was 
standing  in  the  door,  her  form  framed 
in  its  sunlit  lines.  And  the  light  of 
sunset  lay  on  her  white  hair." 

"Ah,  sir,"  said  the  old  man,  with 
musing  eyes,  "  the  spell  o'  the  sky  was 
[169] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


on  her,  wa'n't  it  !  I  al'ays  thought  so 
—  the  spell  o'  the  sky  was  on  her  1  " 

"  As  we  drove  away,  captain,  I  took 
one  more  look.  She  had  gone  from 
the  door.  The  small-paned  windows 
were  ruddy  in  the  sun's  last  rays.  The 
old  dwelling  was  the  picture  of  peace. 
And  back  of  all  its  quietness  I  saw  an 
old  man  milking  her  two  cows." 

"  Yes,"  said  Captain  Cotter.  And 
the  voice  was  like  that  of  one  lost  in  a 
pleasant  dream. 


[170] 


XV 


XV 


"  A  I  ^\HE  fust  time  I  ever  got  sight 
o'  ye,"  the  captain  began,  re- 
turning to  his  story,  "was  the 
day  you  be'n  tellin'  of.  I  hed  be'n 
carin'  fur  her  and  her  place  a  good 
many  years  then.  Fur  I  wanted  to 
do  the  little  I  could  to  offset  the 
wrong  I  'd  done.  She  was  al'ays 
wondrous  kind  to  me  ;  but  naught 
she  did  or  said  was  half  so  com- 
fortin'  as  her  trustin'  me  the  way  she 
did. 

"  'T  wa'n't  long  after  that  visit  o* 
yours  —  a  year  'r  thereabouts  —  that 
the  end  come.  An'  when  she  was 
dead  her  friends  found  a  little  letter 
under  her  pillow.  It  told  'em  how 
she  had  loved  'em  and  how  good  they 
had  been  to  her.  An'  then  it  said  she 
wanted  to  be  buried  quiet-like,  an'  that 
[173] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


her  friend,  Jason  Cotter,  knew  all 
about  her  wishes,  an'  she  wanted  them 
to  let  him  do  it  all  just  as  he  might 
say.  The  letter  ended  this  way,  '  He 
understands  ;  he  will  keep  his  word. 
This  is  my  last  wish.' 

"  So  we  laid  her  in  yon'  buryin'- 
ground  beside  Ruth  and  Richard.  I 
waited  a  spell,  and  then  I  hed  a  stone 
made  fur  her  grave.  I  wanted  to  do 
somethin'  that  would  stand  when  I 
was  gone,  witnessin'  to  the  sea  yonder 
and  the  open  sky;  an'  I  wanted  it  to 
make  right  the  wrong  I  'd  done  as  fur 
as  that  could  be.  So  I  hed  a  stone 
made,  an'  I  put  them  words  on  it: 

'  Here  lies  the  body 

of 

ABIGAIL  ROCKWELL 
who  should  have  been  the  wife 

of 
CAPT*   RICHARD  ENDICOTT.' 

"Then  I   thought    'bout    Richard. 
An'  I  wanted  to  make  it  right  fur  him, 
[174] 


OF  THE  PINES 


too,  as  fur  as  I  could.  But  I  did  n't 
know  what  to  put  on  the  stone  fur 
that.  So  one  day  I  was  readin'  in  the 
Bible  an'  I  come  to  that  story  'bout 
Abigail.  An'  I  loved  that  name  so 
that  I  read  it  over  an'  over.  An'  all  to 
onc't  I  found  the  very  words  to  say 
w'at  I  could  n't  say  fur  myself.  They 
was  wondrous  comfortin'  to  me.  So  I 
hed  'em  cut  at  the  bottom  o'  the  stone 
fur  Miss  Abigail's  grave." 

His  voice  fell  to  the  hush  of  prayer 
as  it  sounded  the  words  : 

"  The  soul  of  my  lord  shall  be 
bound  in  the  bundle  of  life  with  the 
Lord  thy  God." 

The  old  man  stood  peering  into  my 
face  in  silence.  An  impulse  seized 
me  to  take  his  trembling  hand  in 
mine. 

As  we  stood  thus  he  said,  "  When 

I  'm  gone,  I  want  ye  to   see  that  my 

old   budy's   laid   at  the  foot  o'  them 

three    graves   I   showed    ye.      An'  I 

[175] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


want  ye  to  put  on  my  stone  some 
words,  whatever  ye  think  '11  do  ;  only 
let  'em  be  words  that  '11  show  I  was  a 
seafarin'  man,  an'  that  all  's  well." 

Slowly  he  turned  away  and  stood 
looking  seaward.  Ere  long  his  eyes 
became  fixed  and  I  followed  his  gaze. 
There  was  a  single  white  sail  on  that 
line  of  light  where  sea  and  sky  keep 
their  ceaseless  tryst  at  evening. 

"  They  are  passed  away  as  the  swift 
ships,"  he  murmured. 

The  marvel  deepened  that  such  a 
one  as  he  had  come  to  know  the 
hidden  treasures  of  the  sacred  page  so 
fondly  that  he  coined  his  speech  from 
their  fine  gold.  But  I  had  not  yet 
seen  the  full  wonder-work  of  Abigail 
Rockwell's  love. 

Still  speaking  to  himself,  he  went 
on.  "  But  I  'm  landlocked  here  a 
spell  yit,  —  an'  the  harbor  bar's  be'n 
gettin'  bigger  year  by  year,  an'  't  is 
wondrous  fearsome  to  me  now  to  think 
[176] 


OF  THE  PINES 


o'  puttin'  out  to  sea  alone,  —  fur  tho' 
I  Ve  been  makin'  ready  to  sail  fur 
many  a  year  's  well  's  I  could,  I  know 
I  could  never  git  out  into  open  water 
seaworthy  but  fur  w'at  she  told  me 
about." 

As  he  said  these  things,  his  eyes 
peered  seaward  under  the  arch  of  his 
hand. 

A  moment  more  and  his  voice  was 
heard  again.  He  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten me,  and  was  softly  singing  : 

"  In  the  —  beauty  —  o'  the  lilies  —  Christ  — 
was  born  —  across  —  the  sea, 

With  a  —  glo-ry  —  in  his  —  bosom  —  that  trans- 
figers  —  you  an'  —  me." 

Ere  long  he  turned  about,  threw  his 
arms  across  his  back,  and  started  from 
the  shore.  For  the  light  of  evening 
time  was  on  land  and  sea. 

I  followed  with  a  great  desire.  The 
words  he  had  spoken  before  turning 

toward  his  cottage  had  set  me  thinking 
12  [  177  ] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


of  a  song  of  the  sea  whose  cadence  had 
but  lately  fallen  on  the  heart  of  the 
world.  I  was  wishing  that  he  might 
hear  its  peaceful  music  while  the  night 
closed  in  on  Seaconnet  and  the  sea  ; 
for  I  knew  the  day  was  far  spent  for 
him,  and  that  he  was  in  a  desert  place 
for  human  comfort. 

So  it  was  that  we  reached  a  little 
hilltop  without  speaking.  The  waters 
drew  their  lifted  circle  round  us  on  all 
sides  but  one.  Here  the  captain  paused. 
Then  I  began  telling  him  of  an  old  man 
over  the  waters  ;  "  a  man  about  your 
own  age,  captain,"  said  I.  "  Not  long 
ago  he  wrote  a  song  of  the  sea." 

Feeling  in  his  blouse  pocket  he  said, 
"D'ye  mean  'Crossin'  the  Bar'?" 
He  drew  forth  a  worn  portion  of 
a  Boston  newspaper.  "Did  a  old 
man  write  them  words  ?  Old  as  I 
be?" 

I  was  looking  at  the  bit  of  paper  in 
the  shadows,   and  wondering  to  find 
[178] 


OF  THE  PINES 


the  magic  lines  thereon,  when  he  said, 
"  Somebudy  sent  me  that  I  Ve  read 
it  over  till  I  can  say  it  now  when  the 
paper  wears  out." 

Just  then  I  made  out  a  dim  pencil 
mark  over  the  stanzas  and  beside  it 
the  letters,  "  P.  B."  Then  I  knew 
that  "  the  wondrous  big  man  who 
come  down  from  Boston  one  summer 
day"  had  not  forgotten  the  old  man 
working  in  the  flower-beds. 

So  it  was  that  there  on  that  little 
hilltop,  while  the  gloaming  gathered, 
these  words  were  spoken  in  the  sweet 
air  of  Seaconnet  : 

"  Sunset  and  evening  star, 

And  one  clear  call  for  me  ! 
And  may  there  be  no  moaning  of  the  bar 
When  I  put  out  to  sea." 

"  That  sounds  's  ef  he  was  a-waitin' 

in  some  place  out  on  the  open  shore 

like    Seaconnet,"    said    the    captain, 

"some   place   where  he   could  watch 

[179] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


the  sunset  an'  see  the  evenin'  star 
come  out  —  an'  hear  the  sea  breakin' 
on  the  bar  like  I  Ve  done  here  many  a 
nightfall.  An'  he  was  a-wishin'  there  'd 
be  no  moanin'  o'  the  bar  when  his 
time  come,  wa'n't  he  ?  Yes,  I  under- 
stand ;  fur  then  it  'd  be  full  tide  ;  't  was 
full  tide  he  was  a-wishin'  fur,  this  old 
man.  Old  's  I  be,  was  he  ?  " 

For  answer    I    only  repeated  the 
next  lines  : 

"  But  such  a  tide  as  moving  seems  asleep, 

Too  full  for  sound  and  foam, 
When  that  which  drew  from  out  the  boundless 
deep 

Turns  again  home." 

"  Yes,  that  's  it,"  the  captain  broke 
in  ;  "  a  seafarin'  man  feels  like  the  full 
tide  was  a  old  friend  o'  his  comin'  in 
from  its  home  where  he  's  goin'.  An' 
he  ain't  so  lonesome  when  it  moves 
'long  by  his  ship,  speakin'  up  to  him 
quiet-like  while  the  dark  comes  down 
on  the  water  an'  he  looks  back  an' 
[180] 


OF  THE  PINES 


sees  the  lights  on  shore  goin'  out  one 
by  one.  'T  is  wondrous  comfortin', 
sir,  to  a  old  seafarin'  man,  the  full  tide 
is,  when  it  hushes  the  moanin'  o'  the 
bar  an'  says,  *  Come  !  come  !  '  the  way 
it  's  sayin'  now  all  round  Seaconnet." 

Wondering  what  meaning  his  old 
eyes  would  see  in  the  shifted  setting 
of  the  song,  I  quoted: 

"Twilight  and  evening  bell 
And  after  that  the  dark  !  " 

His  voice  sounded  close  to  my  face 
in  the  shadows  as  he  took  up  the 
words  in  a  deep  whisper: 

"  And  may  there  be  no  sadness  of  farewell 
When  I  embark." 

He  looked  straight  into  my  eyes. 
At  last  he  said,  "  That  sounds  's  ef  he 
had  to  go  to  the  harbor  town  to  ship, 
too,  don't  it  —  down  where  a  man 
hears  bells  as  the  evenin'  comes  on, 
[181] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


an'  the  voices  o'  friends  'fore  he  sails. 
Yes,  a  man  can't  put  off  fur  the  long, 
long  sail  from  a  lone  shore,  can  he? 
'Tis  a  good  world  with  harbors  an' 
friends  in  it,  sir,  an'  bells  soundin'  at 
nightfall.  *  An'  after  that  the  dark  1  ' 
Yes  —  after  that!" 

Then  I  knew  what  a  victory  over 
despair  had  been  fought  out  in  his 
old  breast. 

"And  after  the  evening  bell,  then 
what,  captain  ?  " 

He  turned  and  looked  seaward 
through  the  gloom.  Standing  so,  he 
repeated  the  words,  — 

"  For  though  from  out  our  bourne  of  Time  and 

Place 

The  flood  may  bear  me  far, 
I  hope  to  see  my  Pilot  face  to  face 
When  I  have  crossed  the  bar." 

Then  he  seemed  to  forget  me  for 
a  time.     Soon,  in  a  voice  sweet  with 
[  182] 


OF  THE  PINES 


childlikeness,  he  said,  "That  old  man 
over  in  England  knowed  that  too, 
did  n't  he  ?  "  After  a  pause  he  went 
on  :  "  That  's  w'at  Miss  Abigail  used 
to  tell  me.  *  There  's  a  Pilot  that  will 
be  with  you,  Jason,'  she  'd  say  oft- 
times.  An'  now  an'  then  she  'd  tell 
me,  '  No  matter  if  you  don't  see  him 
ashore,  Jason  ;  he  '11  come  aboard 
when  you  put  to  sea  ;  an'  when 
you  've  crossed  the  bar  you  '11  see  him 
face  to  face.'  ' 

Then  the  voice  was  very  sweet  and 
low  in  the  Seaconnet  twilight  as  he 
said: 

"  When  that  time  comes,  sir,  the 
fust  thing  I  '11  say  to  him  11  be,  '  'T  was 
Miss  Abigail  tol'  me  to  trust  you  the 
way  I  hev.'  An'  then  I  mean  to 
kneel  down  right  there  on  the  deck 
like  old  Peter  did,  an'  say,  *  I  am  a 
sinful  man,  O  Lord,  but  you  won't 
leave  me  now  fur  that,  will  you  ? 
[183] 


SAINT  ABIGAIL 


Miss  Abigail  told  me  you  would  n't.' 
An'  then  I  know  he  '11  say,  *  Fear  not, 
Jason.'  Fur  ef  it  were  not  so  she 
would  'a,'  tol'  me  !  " 

The    voice    ceased.      And    it    was 
night  all  round  about  in  Seaconnet. 

•  •••••• 

In  the  little  burying-ground  in  that 
pleasant  nook  of  land  beside  the 
sounding  sea,  there  is  now  a  grave 
hard  by  three  that  lie  side  by  side. 
You  may  stand  in  the  hush  of  their 
quietness  any  summer  day.  Over  you 
the  elm  tree  will  lift  its  benediction, 
and  all  round  about  the  pasture  slopes 
of  Seaconnet  will  be  sweet  with  the 
sea's  breath  and  the  warm  sunshine 
and  the  scent  of  bayberry.  Peace 
covers  all  things  about  the  spot  that 
marks  the  keeping  of  the  tryst.  And 
if  you  would  hear  the  last  word  of  the 
tale,  you  will  find  it  there.  For  on 
the  stone  whose  mound  is  at  the  foot 
[184] 


OF  THE  PINES 


of  the  three  that  lie  side  by  side,  are 
these  words: 


HERE  LIES  THE  BODY 

OF 

CAPT.  JASON  COTTER 

WHO  DIED  DEC.  25,  1890, 

AGED  82  YRS. 


"  3T  0*to  as  tt  toere  a  slassp  era 
.  .  anB  tbrm  that  come  off  mrtortoua  .  .  , 
etanlJtng:  by  the  glatftfp  ctea 
of 


[185] 


000  132259 


